The North Cries No Tears
by ladydirewolf1
Summary: It has been six years since the silver queen reclaimed her iron throne. What happens when a familiar face appears before the dragon's court; a girl all believed was lost to time? In an epic adventure from King's Landing to the Shadow Lands and back again, Jaime Lannister and Arya Stark discover what it means to truly love someone-and the price one pays for love.
1. Chapter 1

_Just some brief notes about the story:  
_

 _1\. This story takes place **six years** after Dany reclaims her throne. Therefore..._

 _2\. Arya is 19 now. She is a grown-ass woman and can do whatever (or be with whomever) she wants_

 _3\. Jaime has been without his right hand for a very long time now. At this point, he is just as capable with his left as he used to be with his right._

 _4\. Please enjoy and don't forget to R &R! _

* * *

_**Tears**_

 _You swam beneath the deepest sea,_

 _To pick up what I had "lost"._

 _But my dear, that's where I mean to be,_

 _To join the tears I'd tossed._

 **Chapter 1**

Jaime strode into the throne room, awaiting his queen, when he was caught off-guard. A girl stood before the iron throne, staring at the empty chair. Besides the girl and the dragon skulls, filled and glowing with candlelight, the hall was empty. The dragon queen was yet to arrive.

"Looking for someone?" he called out.

The girl whipped around, waist-length brown curls flying back over her armored shoulder, left hand drawing out a thin blade. Jaime had only once before seen such a creature, many years ago when he was just a boy. The girl narrowed her blue, nearly grey eyes.

"…Lyanna?" Jaime whispered.

He stood there, staring in speechless bewilderment. Her wild beauty was just as great as the country that birthed her; she was a child of winter, a child of the North. Jaime was but sixteen during Robert's Rebellion when he had laid eyes on the girl Rhaegar had spirited away. _No, this cannot be her. Lyanna is dead…perhaps this is her ghost…_ Jaime chuckled at the thought.

"Do you mock me, Ser?" The girl's eyes flashed as she raised up her sword.

"Of course not, my lady. It is just…you remind me so of another maiden just as fair as yourself." _Pretty maidens love to hear a knight's curtesy._

Before he even understood what was happening, an object went flying past, grazing the tip of his ear with sharp burst of pain.

"What the—" Jaime snapped around, bringing his fingers to his ear. A dagger stood quivering, imbedded in the great oak doors he stood guarding. Blood covered his fingertips, the drops falling down to stain his white cloak.

"Not a lady," she warned, dipping low into a mocking curtsey. She walked past him, ignoring his stare as she wrenched the dagger from the wood. "And next time I won't miss," she added.

Jaime stared in awe at the girl. She didn't look particularly dangerous—other than the sword she clutched, and now the dagger she spun effortlessly in the other hand. Her small stature matched his queen, although she lacked the soft curves that the dragon woman possessed. "And does this not-a-lady have a name?"

She didn't look up, merely watching the dagger go up and down as she flipped it. "And what do they call you?" she replied.

"Ah, you want my name first? I fear there are far too many to repeat all of them. Kingslayer, you may have heard."

The girl nodded, as if she already knew. "A kingslayer serving the new queen…is the dragon girl naïve, or simply stupid?"

"My queen has her reasons for keeping me around, none of which concern you."

She bared her teeth in a wolf-like grin; perhaps not a pretty smile…but an alluring one nonetheless. Jaime approached her, eyeing her blades. "What business do you have here? I hate to warn you…but the queen has had quite a temper these past few months. I wouldn't want that pretty face to get all burned up." He reached is good hand forward, running a finger down her cheek. Before he could stop her, the girl had her dagger pressed to his throat and his left arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"I warned you, Lannister. I'm not some pretty maid to play with," she hissed.

 _Boom!_ The sound echoed throughout the hall, prompting the girl to swiftly sheath her blade and step back, as if nothing had been amiss. Jaime turned. His queen had arrived.

Daenerys, accompanied by her usual council, floated past in her lovely white gown. Jaime noted the ornate silver dragon clinging to her slender neck. _Even after all these years, my queen still reminds us what, not who, she really is._ Ser Jorah held out a hand, helping the small queen to climb the stairs before settling in her throne. The party seemed oblivious to the weapons, the hidden danger that the girl posed.

"My queen." Jaime bowed low, his cloak brushing the ground.

"Ser Jaime," she said, nodding in his direction. "And who might this be?" The queen gestured at the, presumably, northern girl, standing defiantly a few yards to his right. Before Jaime could respond, the girl stepped forward before the queen, sinking to her knees. Daenerys's violet eyes took in her strange appearance; northerners were a rare sight in the capitol, and a pretty girl in armor was almost unheard of. _Except I knew a maid like that once…long ago…_

The girl raised her head to meet the queen's gaze. "Your grace. We are not so different, you and I. Both young girls once, mere victims of the wars of men. I know that your family was taken from you. Mine was as well. And now look at us both: warriors. You, a queen and I… With this knowledge I merely come asking for solace here, for refuge." She finished, keeping her head lowered.

The dragon queen raised an eyebrow, turning to Ser Jorah in question. The old knight shrugged. "Am I expected to allow just anyone a place in my kingdom? I do not even know your name. Rise and speak." She raised her hand, palm facing up, towards the celling. The girl slowly climbed to her feet, smoothing down her breeches before settling her hands by her sides.

"I am Arya Stark, your grace. Of Winterfell."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Arya sucked in a breath and waited. The dragon queen did not move, her old knight did not move, every iron-clad guard did not move. Only the Lannister standing beside her. She heard the chink of his armor, rattling as his ribs folded over in laughter.

"Seven hells, girl! You expect anyone to believe you?" He walked forward, stepping before the statuesque queen. "Your grace, you cannot entertain this fool! _Arya Stark_ died eight years ago when my sister took Ned Stark's head. Even so, the Stark girl is a small child, nothing like the wench before you."

Clenching her first, Arya turned to the Kingslayer. " _Was_ a child. I'm not anymore. People change, Lannister. Your queen seems to think so, allowing _you_ into her queensguard." Arya spat at her feet. The queen shifted nervously in her throne.

"You will not speak to Ser Jaime like that," she snapped, composing herself. Arya stepped back, not in fear, but in respect. "Tell us then, girl," she said, softening slightly, "Where were you all these years? Did you mean to leave behind your sister and brother?"

 _My brother…? Sansa? They're alive_. A thousand memories of her childhood flooded forward. "…I did not know…please, your grace. Tell me of my family," she pleaded. _Arya Stark would beg for her family._

"I will, if your story is true."

Arya swallowed before starting. "Of course, your grace. After the Lannisters killed my father," she looked over at the Kingslayer as he refused to meet her gaze, "I escaped the keep. During the war I eventually made my way from Harrenhall to Braavos, the free city." The queen looked down, expectantly. Arya rushed on, "I lived there for many years, moving between the free cities as a…I worked for a great house there. I heard stories of you, of the great dragon queen reclaiming her throne. But I could not return…until now." It wasn't the entire truth, but the queen needn't know the whole story. _She needn't know why I return now_.

"And no one learned that the Stark girl had escaped?" the queen asked, turning first to the knight and then to the olive-skinned girl beside her. Both shook their heads. "Ser Jaime, what say you?"

"I'd say lock the girl up, at least till her story is proven. You don't want a repeat of last time, your grace."

 _Last time?_ "Please, your grace. I have no reason to—"

The queen stopped her, raising a hand. "Ser Jaime is right. Escort her to a chamber that befits her…rank. She shall stay there until someone comes forward to claim her identity." Two iron-clad guards moved behind her. The queen stood up, climbing down the steps as her party and the Lannister followed.

"My family! You said—"

"And take her sword," she called over her shoulder before exiting the hall.

Arya eyed the guard, grudgingly handing over her sword. The dagger remained hidden in her breeches. The other guard took her arm gently, leading her away from the empty throne.

* * *

The door slammed shut, a bolt scraping across the steel frame. The guards had taken her to a chamber on the east side of the keep; a room not unlike the one she had stayed in as a girl. Arya strode over to the window, peering out at the orange sky. Past the towers and the stone walls, a small form soared in the sky above the sea. Arya squinted, clutching the sheer curtain. _A dragon…the dragon queen has dragons_. Arya smiled despite herself, awed at the creature.

The chamber was elegantly furnished in typical Westerosi fashion, as if currently occupied by a lady of the court. Everything from the thick woven tapestries to the very air was unfamiliar; Arya had been gone from her homeland so long. She walked over to the wardrobe, examining the gowns. _Whomever occupies this room is certainly not one for modestly_ , Arya thought bitterly as the ornate silks spilled between her fingers. _But this is who you must become now…a lady of Westeros. You must become the fair maiden they love so much here_. After rummaging through the slippery fabrics, Arya decided on the simplest of the gowns: all navy blue, with pleats cascading down from the fitted corset. Arya laughed at the girl in the looking glass. Where she'd been, only whores and courtesans would wear such a thing. She slid her dagger down the laced bodice, the cold steel biting at her ribs.

After examining every inch of the room, Arya lied down on the wide bed, with only her thoughts and the ever-fading dragon to keep her company as the sky grew dark. Just as her eyelids began to shut, a knock sounded at the door.

Arya jumped up, allowing herself to fade into the shadowed corner as the door flew open.

"Arya?" a voice whispered, stepping into a pool of light. She froze, heart thudding in defiance to her concealment. _I know that voice, I know that face_.

She stepped forward, joining in the yellow pool. Arya watched as the shock spread over his face, watched as his eyes drank in the strange yet familiar girl before him.

"Arya," he breathed. "They told me you were here…I thought you were dead. You look so…" For a second Arya could almost make out a flush of scarlet on his soot-covered cheeks.

Arya laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and again at the confusion on the poor boy's face. _Well, not a boy anymore_.

"Not dead?" she offered up, waving at her body. "And not the Arry you once knew."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3  
**

Gendry, his mouth agape and eyes wide, merely sputtered at her. Arya rolled her eyes. "I knew you'd recognize me, now go and tell your bloody queen."

"—how did you get here?" he said, shutting the door behind him and stepping closer. He still smelled of soot and steel, stronger than before.

"I took a ship," she said simply. "It's easier than you think, Gendry. To get around in this world."

He swallowed, crossing his toned arms. "Why'd you come back? I'd thought m'lady hated this place. They took your father's head…and your sister—"

"What? Tell me, Gendry." Arya grabbed his arms, forcing him to look down at her. "Tell me what they did to her."

Gendry shifted uncomfortably in her grip, but did not seek release. "Everything I know I learned after the queen reclaimed her throne. It's the best truth you're gonna get," he started. "After you left, the Lannisters married her to the Imp, Tyrion. But when Joffrey died she was stolen by Littlefinger. Bastard's dead now," he added. "I heard that he'd had plans of marrying her off to some lord in the Vale, or maybe he'd marry her himself. I don't know, it don't matter anymore. Then the dragon queen arrived, and your sister's first husband with her."

"Her prisoner, you mean?"

"Nay, her advisor."

Arya widened her eyes, releasing his arms to step back. She began pacing, one hand rubbing the back of her head. "Is that why she keeps the Kingslayer?" _It seems this queen has a strange fondness for lions_ , she mused.

Gendry spat at his feet. "No one 'cept the queen herself knows, I reckon. She's a good ruler, just. But to forgive the man who killed her father…"

"And what of my sister? Where is she now?"

"She's with the Imp, m'lady. The queen handed her back over. None of us have seen her since the septons had 'em redo their vows. I'd imagine she's with him at the Rock."

 _She's safe then, away from the capitol._ Arya stopped her pacing, looking up at him, remembering. "The queen said something about my brother. Does she mean Jon?"

"I've not heard, m'lady."

"I'm _not_ your lady, Gendry," Arya snapped, eyes flashing.

Gendry grinned back at her, and Arya suppressed a smile despite her pleasure. _It's been so long since I've seen a friendly face…I had no friends like this back in Essos_. "Of course, m'lady."

She ran up to him, playfully smacking his arm. "I'm not ten anymore, Gendry."

Arya expected him to hit her back, but his hand fell short, falling limply back to his side. She frowned at the failed reciprocation, pulling her own hand back to awkwardly smooth down her skirts, pressing harder and harder as the pleats refused to give.

"Look at me, Arya," he said, catching her hands in his own. Arya looked up, for some reason embarrassed at the situation. At herself. _Why am I acting like this? I've dealt with men before, I…I know how to handle them_. She pushed those thoughts back, focusing on his somber eyes.

"I _know_ you're not ten. Any man could see that." Arya noticed how his eyes flicked down. "But you are a lady, now more than ever. Things can't be like they used to."

Just as she opened her mouth, Gendry leaned forward, planting a light kiss on her cheek. Arya stood frozen as his lips moved away, heat rushing to her face. Gendry squeezed her hands once more before stepping back, softly closing the door behind him. Arya brought her fingers to the spot, hoping that her cool flesh would quench the fire burning under her skin. No luck. Reaching down her bodice, Arya pulled out the dagger hidden against her ribs. She raised the flat steel to her cheek, praying that the blade would take away whatever Gendry had left behind.

* * *

The next morning her door finally opened again. During the night a servant had drifted in, carrying a tray of boiled potatoes and salted pork. She had eaten this greedily, having nothing to fill her belly since she left the ship this morning. _Back to Pentos, was it? Or maybe Myr?_

A guard beckoned her out, proceeding to escort her to the throne room. Arya smoothed a hand over her messy braid and now deflated pleats. As she the door parted the inky skulls leered in the grey light, no longer ominous without their fire and darkness. The queen sat as before on her throne, this time dressed in a strange looking garment wrapped intricately around her thin frame. _A tokar_ , she remembered, thinking back to her trip to Slaver's Bay. The ship she'd ridden in had just been passing through, but Arya had seen a few nobles at the port, scattered about as they fussed over the incoming trade ships.

"Lady Arya Stark of House Winterfell, the Girl Lost to Time," the dark-skinned girl called out, rising as she addressed the budding court. The few lords and ladies stood, turning as Arya strode down the aisle before halting before the steps. The Kingslayer was not there, only the old knight and a handful of guards.

"I see someone has persuaded you. And I like the title, was it your idea, your Grace?" Arya questioned, picking up her skirts as she bowed her head.

The queen's violet eyes flashed in annoyance at the jest. "It was not, Lady Stark," she replied curtly, ignoring Arya's tone. "But I am told that the Westerosi like these names. I have many myself, you see."

Arya smiled despite herself. "Then I thank you, your Grace. If that is all—"

The queen rose, a small hand clutching the tasseled fabric at her waist. "One more thing." She took a tiny step forward, as if balancing in the narrow dress. "My court is dismissed," she called out. The light crowd began to shuffle and move at once, still groggy in the early hour. "I will speak to Lady Stark alone," she said, looking at her council and personal guards.

"Is that wise, your grace?" the old knight whispered, glancing suspiciously at Arya.

The queen gave him a small smile, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I was once a young girl as well, Ser Jorah. She will do me no harm." The knight, presumably Ser Jorah, nodded before taking his leave.

"Follow me," the queen said, turning to walk down the steps. Arya rushed forward to help her, afraid that she might trip, but the queen waved her off. "I have had years of practice." Arya followed her past the throne and into an adjacent room. The walls were lined with books, the air musty with only one window. The queen sat down at the oak table, beckoning Arya to join.

"I apologize for last night, Lady Stark. I hope the chambers were acceptable," she said, pouring herself a cup of iced wine from the brass pitcher.

"I'm used to worse, your Grace."

The queen responded by waving her hand as she drank. She set the goblet down, proceeding to pour another for Arya. "You needn't use the formalities in here, it's just Dany. And from what I've heard, courtesy was never your thing."

"Aye. But I have learned a thing or two over the years." Arya picked up her wine, wincing as the bitter liquid washed over her tongue. Despite her years traveling from city to city in the East, Arya had never acquired a taste for the drink.

"I want to know," Dany started, swirling her cup, "what you did these past years. How does a young girl from the North survive on her own?"

"The only thing a woman can do. I worked for men, the same as you."

Dany narrowed her eyes, setting down her cup. "Do you take me for a whore?"

Arya shrugged. "No, I take you for a queen. But all women work for men in this damned world, a queen most of all. Just as I served the men of the East, you serve the men of your kingdom."

"And how did you serve these men? Not with your body, I presume."

"Not usually," she replied, mimicking Dany as she set down her full cup. "I killed other men," she put simply, looking up through her lashes at the queen's hard expression. "I traveled the world, serving. From Braavos to Volantis, New Ghis to Naath, I served."

Dany sucked in a breath, staring at Arya. "Why." It wasn't a question.

She pondered this, staring out through the small bubbling glass. "I had no where else to go. My home was stolen, my family, the north." Arya snapped her head back around. "I left my tears behind when they murdered my father. _That_ is why I left."

A small hand reached towards her own, gripping it firmly. "I see your strength, Arya. You are not unlike myself in that way."

Arya saw the kindness in her violet eyes, masked by the hard façade of the dragon queen, but still she quietly drew back her hand. "What will you have of me?"

Dany stood up, still clutching her tokar. Arya followed her silently out of the room, past the empty throne and onto a balcony overlooking the city. "Do you see this, Arya?" She gestured to the sea of tiles covering the streets. "I have been looking for someone like you for quite a while. Someone who has traveled the East, someone who has proven their strength and stealth." Arya cocked her head, trying to make sense of her words. "Perhaps it is time that you serve someone else. I need your help."

The rooftops flashed under the rising run, winking in the heat. _The place still smells of shit_ , she couldn't help but think. Facing the queen, she replied, "What with?"

"There is something you will find for me. I require something of great importance, hidden in the Shadow Lands. This mission must be done in the upmost secret, do you hear me? A ship will carry you from here to Braavos to begin, and you shall be accompanied by Ser Jaime and a handful of guards." Dany leaned forward, resting her palms on the railing as she overlooked her city. "You leave in a moon's turn," she added before shuffling away as gracefully as a queen might, leaving Arya staring out at the stinking city.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _She ran her fingers across the frozen walls, the ice melting under her touch as she moved further through the tunnel. Frost coated her fur-lined cloak, but still, even in the heart of the great wall, she felt no chill. The tunnel turned sharply, revealing a door, rotted by time yet pulsing, pulsing with need. As she threw her shoulder against the stiff wood, a low growl came from within. Once inside she pressed herself to the cell wall, but the wolf did not advance. He snarled, baring his teeth but did not move from the body._

 _"You need to help him, sister. It is the only way."_

 _Whipping around, her eyes widened in fear. "I do not know how," she breathed out, words and steam expelled into the frigid air. The wolf snapped his jaws, turning away as he crouched above his master, his once white fur stained red and brown. "I do not believe in prophecy anymore," she whispered._

 _"You must help him. You must." He walked towards her, reaching for her face. She recoiled backwards, almost falling before the wolf warned her with a rumbling growl. His fingers met her cheek, singing the flesh with a fire she had never felt before, not even when she had been consumed by the flames. The pain grew sharper, his touch burning with a heat that brought tears to her eyes, a heat that seared straight through to the bone, scorching and burning until—_

Dany screamed, looking madly around her chambers. She sat up, breathing hard and her heart beating furiously. Bringing a palm to her cheek and another to her chest, she felt only smooth skin and a thudding pulse. The door burst open, smashing into the wall.

"Your Grace!" Ser Jorah rushed over, sword in hand. Dany wrapped a thin sheet around herself, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked up.

"I—I am fine, Ser Jorah. Fine." The knight ignored her, settling beside her on the disheveled bed.

"A nightmare, Khaleesi. The third this week." He furrowed his brow, laying down his sword.

Dany looked away. _After all these years as queen, I am still plagued by the monsters of children_. "It is the same dream, my bear. The same dream that has haunted me since I came to this land."

Jorah hesitantly placed one large hand on her upper back, stroking it gently. Dany felt as his fingers moved through her tangled hair, gently loosening the silver knots. She leaned into his touch, admitting the comfort it brought.

"You told me of your plans for the Stark girl, Khaleesi. I still do not see—"

"What do you not see?" she shot back, lifting her eyes. His hand froze but remained pressed against her. "You do not believe in the prophecy? In me? Perhaps you do not want this to work."

"I have seen you rise from the ash with three dragons. I have seen you free thousands of slaves and conquer great cities. And I have seen you reclaim your father's throne with fire. But this? _This_ is sorcery. Necromancy."

Dany stared into his hard eyes and lifted a hand to his cheek. "My brother gave me these dreams for a reason. I am destined to do this, and with you by my side." She pulled his face closer, feeling his hot breath against her neck. He brought her closer in turn, drawing her up onto his lap. "When the girl returns, I will walk into the pyre as before. I will emerge as before, unburnt. Dragons bring great power, I was once told," she whispered into his ear. "Enough to bring back my nephew." Dany kissed his jaw. "I _will_ complete the song of ice and fire."

* * *

 _A short chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same! Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Any comments, critiques, and reviews are much appreciated! Thanks!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The queen's door opened, leaking pale light into the dark hallway. Jaime stayed hidden in the shadows as a figure emerged, turning right as he groggily rubbed his hair. He watched as Ser Jorah made is way past the silent wall of eunuchs before rounding the corner. Jaime was on queensguard duty tonight; a position that gave privy to all sorts of juicy information. _Not that this is anything new_ , he thought. _The bear frequents her bed whenever the sellsword is away. She's been inviting him for years_. Daenerys was a strange ruler; she had never taken a man for her husband, leaving her alone on the throne. Furthermore she was the only woman he had ever heard of to take a paramour, the Tyroshi sellsword Daario Naharis.

Jaime slipped from the shadow, knocking on the door before entering. Daenerys stood facing out towards the rising sun, not yet dressed for court. She wore only a sheer silk nightgown, although most was covered by a smooth silver sheet.

"You asked me to come at first light, your grace."

"I did, ser. Come here." She did not turn, knowing that he would follow. Jaime walked over to her side, crossing his arms over his armored chest. _Not the gold I once wore, but dark steel now, with Targaryen slashes of crimson_. He looked down at the small queen, waiting.

After a long pause she spoke again, gesturing to the view. "My dragons like the rising sun, they fly every morning to greet it."

Squinting, he could make out three bird-like forms, soaring and dipping in the pale glow. "An incredible sight, your grace." _Why does she say such things?_

As if hearing his internal question, the queen turned, looking up at Jaime with a soft smile. "They will have brothers and sisters soon," she started quietly before regaining her queenly composure, clearing her throat. "You leave in a moon's turn, with Lady Stark."

Jaime nodded, trying to hide his surprise. _I did not believe she would actually send me, and with a child no less._ "Is that wise, your grace? When you told me of this plan, I thought it but a dream. My place is here, defending your rule. And you want me to travel with the northern child?"

"That _child_ has seen much more of the world than you, ser. I would send her alone, but I fear that would be too dangerous. I will be perfectly safe with my unsullied and Ser Jorah."

He smirked at the name. _Safe in your bed, perhaps._ "You know that I would do anything for you, but if you expect me to take orders from a maid—"

Her violet irises flashed in the pale, angry light. "You will do as I command. You have not forgotten your promise, I trust. I've sent golden heads rolling before, don't make me repeat the past."

 _And so the dragon speaks_. Jaime tensed, waiting for the next fiery words. Instead his queen turned to face him straight on.

"Missandei will accompany you and Lady Stark into the city today, to purchase whatever you require and make arrangements." Her voice was firm but not dangerous in tone.

Jaime bowed, taking the words as his leave as he exited the queen's chambers.

* * *

"Not worth it by far," Jaime whispered into the girl's ear. "The queen now imports from the free city of Astapor, and the fruit has never recovered from the loss of slaves."

She set the blood-orange down, frowning. "I didn't know that fruit cared if its growers were free or chained."

Jaime smirked before realizing she was feigning stupidity. Arya laughed at his face, picking the fruit back up and placing it in her netted bag, flipping a copper at the shop owner. The old man caught it greedily, eyeing its previous owner up and down lustfully. The city was filled with marketers of all kinds, hollering for their patronage. Ever since the dragon queen had arrived, King's Landing had reopened with a vigor not seen since before the Mad King. Flamboyant spice traders from the Summer Islands and weathered whalers from Ibben all sought prosperity in the Targaryen capitol.

Arya flashed a grin at the leering man before resuming her stroll down the narrow street. Missandei quickly followed at her feet, casting a disgusted look over her shoulder at the man, who gave her a wink. He sighed, stepping behind the two girls. Arya had donned the revealing silks of Lys, the pale blue fabric hinting at soft curves while exposing her back and the tops of her pale breasts. When the girl had met him at the keep's gate, she had laughed at his horrified expression.

"I warned you, Lady Stark. The common men of Westeros have no shame in their gawking," Jaime called over the crowded street.

She stopped, waiting till Jaime caught up. "One of the many things I have learned in the East is that men are much more willing to sell to a pretty girl than an armored knight. Although…they might like me even more if I wore amour…" She turned back around, pondering this.

 _How in seven hells did Ned Stark's daughter turn into…whatever she is_. He pushed aside the thought, hurrying to follow as the girls entered a dense portion of the market. The three of them went from stand to stand, purchasing supplies for the trip. Along the way Missandei read off a parchment, explaining the goods the queen thought they might require. People cleared from their path at the sight of a queensguard, but still the stares continued. "It's like the bloody maiden herself walks through their streets," Jaime muttered under his breath after passing a colorful merchant making a rather rude gesture behind the girls' backs. As he hung back, the Stark girl bargaining down the price of some leather boots, a hand suddenly clasped onto his arm. He turned, about to draw his sword when he saw the face.

" _Seven Hells_ , Podrick," he hissed. "I told you to stop doing that." The boy looked at his feet, reddening. The once squire had been appointed to knighthood after being released from Brienne's service, but still he remained close to the capitol, now in Jaime's service.

"Sorry, my lord. I—I thought you should know that a raven's come from the Rock. I thought to give it to the queen, but it's from your brother." Podrick handed him the scroll.

 _Jaime,_

 _I ride for the capitol, and I should be arriving the day after you read this. The news I bring is far too dangerous to discuss by raven. Meet me at the Street of Silk, I expect you know the place._

Rolling up the parchment and tucking it into his belt, Jaime pondered this. "Thank you, Pod. Return to your duties." The boy dutifully bowed his head, slipping back into the crowded street. Jaime glanced over at the girls, who has seemingly succeeded in their bargaining.

"Lady Stark, Missandei. It's best we return to the keep." They turned at his voice, Arya rolling her eyes before thanking the merchant.

"Thank you for the boots, ser. It seems like my pretty watchdog wants to return home." The man started to laugh before seeing Jaime's stern expression, gulping.

"Of—of course, great lady. It's been a pleasure."

Jaime noticed how he now released his plump hand from the girl's waist. As they walked away through the crowd, he turned to the girl beside him. "Don't you wonder what your father would think?"

Arya smirked, running a hand through her tumbling curls. "I doubt he'd even recognize me," she replied smoothly, looking up with her steel blue eyes. "But perhaps that is the point."

* * *

 _As always, thank you so much for reading and don't forget to review!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey, guys, I'm really excited for you to read this chapter. I'm so pleased with how it turned out! As always, reviews are much appreciated! I really want to know what you guys think about this story, since it's a bit different from what you usually see. Let me know what you like/dislike, and what you're excited about. Thanks!_

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

"No, you don't understand," Jaime said firmly, his annoyance rising. "I'm looking for my brother." Still the honey-skinned woman shrugged, teasing at his tunic. Jaime grabbed her wrist, pulling it away. "The _Imp_ ," he explained, exasperated.

"Oh, you want the little man?" she purred, almond eyes lighting up. "Back there. The little man pays well." She gestured over her shoulder to a draped doorway, clouded by silk and rolling clouds of incense.

Jaime rolled his eyes, pushing past her. _Of course my brother would pick the finest brothel in town as a meeting place_. The alcove was even darker than the parlor, with maroon sheets tenting up to a high ceiling, admitting wine-colored light through the veiled windows. Tyrion sat on one of the many cushions, alone and lounging with a flagon of wine.

"What, no girls to keep you company?" Jaime wandered forward, plopping himself down beside his brother with a groan.

"Ah, how good it is to see you, dear brother. How long has it been? Six years? And no, it would seem that I have changed my ways. A lady wife and some lion cubs will do that to you, you know." Tyrion drank deeply from his cup, tilting back his head. "Have you got one?"

"A lion?"

"A _girl_ , Jaime. A _wife_ ," he said pointedly. "Perhaps our sweet queen would like someone to warm her throne. I hear it gets quite drafty up there."

Jaime chuckled. "I fear that her bed is too open already," he sighed. "Besides, I'm not interested. Tell me of this danger your raven spoke of." He reached over, pouring himself a cup of the Arbor gold.

Tyrion's spine straightened, his expression now serious despite his reclined position. "There has been news of the Reach, Jaime. I knew that we should never have let the pretty rose crawl back there. Her prickly grandmother too," he added before lowering his voice. "There are whispers about the Tyrells planning on usurping the throne."

Pulling back in surprise, Jaime set down his untouched cup. "Why would Highgarden want to reclaim the throne? They _helped_ Daenerys reclaim it."

Tyrion shook his head. " _Reclaim_ but not keep. They worry of the queen's fertility, that she cannot produce an heir. Especially worrisome as she rules alone. If the Targaryen line were to go extinct, who do you think would claim it?"

He pondered this. "…she allowed Stannis to live. In exile, but live nonetheless. That is what they fear? That if the queen dies the Baratheon's would reclaim the throne?"

"Aye, not a pretty sight for the pretty roses. That's why they think to make a move now, before Stannis can regroup. Will you inform the queen?" Tyrion eased back down, returning to his cup.

"I…I do not know if that is wise, Tyrion. There are things stirring in the capitol as well." His brother looked over his rim expectantly. "Arya Stark has returned, and the queen plans to send me and her on some sort of mission…"

"Seven hells," Tyrion breathed out, rubbing his jaw. "I've got to tell Sansa, she thinks the girl is dead!" He moved to stand, pushing up from the floor with a wobbly arm. Jaime stopped him, pushing gently on his shoulder.

"Wait, brother. We cannot have this news travel to the Rock. I know you trust your wife, but this is her _sister_ we speak of. If the Reach were to find out about this mission—"

"What kind of mission?" Tyrion interrupted, falling back down. The wine had clearly started its effects.

"To bring back something. Dragon eggs from the Shadow Lands." Jaime watched as these words settled over his brother, despite his clouded state. "She will not tell me why. Any ideas? You've always been keen on the beasts."

"…I will have to think on it…but are you certain that Sansa cannot know?"

"No, Tyrion, Raise you children with the idea that their aunt was some brave little wolf, that is all."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Is she not anymore? I remember the girl, a filthy, boisterous little thing. So unlike her sister…"

Jaime knew that his brother's marriage to the Stark girl had started off rocky, but had somehow grown into a friendship. "Not love," Tyrion had said once. "But we are both happy. I greatly value our companionship, more so now with a babe on the way." That was five years ago, and the couple had been blessed with three more children over the years, some golden, some kissed by fire like their mother.

He sighed, thinking of the northern creature. "She's still wild, I'll give you that. But time in the East has changed her. I don't know what happened, but she certainly learned to play the game."

His brother smirked. "Ah, that's a look I thought I'd never see again. Is my dear brother in love?" The words were obviously meant in jest, but Jaime's eyes darkened, remembering.

"Do not mock me on the subject, Tyrion. You forget that my left hand works just as well now." His brother responded by holding out his palms, backing off. "The girl hides behind some mask. You should see the way she dresses, even my whore-loving brother might blink twice. Just the other day at the marketplace, you should have seen how she interacted with those perfumed cheesemongers. I can almost see Ned Stark rolling over in his crypt," Jaime groaned.

"You forget something, Jaime. Women all over this world hide behind masks. My own wife did as our family beat and tortured her. Hells, even in the first years of our marriage she hid behind a thick veil of courtesy. Think of what the poor girl's been through. Abandonment, loss, pain. It's a wonder that every women from the Wall to Qarth can be seen at all."

"I see your point," Jaime replied, nodding. Tyrion drained the last of his wine, tipping out the last golden drops before setting it back down.

"What do you think fills the seas?" he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jaime gave his brother a quizzical look. "Salty water, I suppose?"

"Aye, brother. Tears. With all the pain they go through, something had to fill this damned place."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Dust clouded the hot air as she set the chest down with a low thud. Wiping her hands on her thin breeches, Arya looked back over her shoulder at the keep. Their ship was to set sail tonight, and the small dock was steadily filling up with crates and barrels of all sizes. The chest by her feet contained more of her…personal possessions, and Arya had dismissed every serving boy who offered to drag it down in her stead. Holding out her hand to block the blazing sun, she could make out a figure running towards her from the keep.

"Oye! I've already told the lot of you that I don't need help!," she warned, blinking. Stepping out of the sun, she lowered her hand. He stopped abruptly in front of her, breathing hard. "Gendry."

He took a few deep breaths, hands on his knees, before speaking. "I—I wanted to see you. Before you left." Gendry now straightened to his full height, half a head taller than herself.

Arya crossed her arms, looking up. Even with the brightness clouding her vision, she could make out a glaring streak of dirt from cheek to jaw. "I'm not leaving till tonight."

"You and I both know I wouldn't be allowed down, m'lady…I wanted to see you again." Gendry stepped closer, prompting Arya to take a step back as she looked away. The cold stones of the keep now brushed against her back.

"Why are you acting like this? You never cared this much before," she countered. Arya avoided his eyes, focusing on the grime clinging to his face.

He knotted his eyebrows. "You mean during the war? Of course I cared about you…just in a different way is all. You were a child then…and now—"

"Now what?" she demanded, meeting his eyes. "Dammit, Gendry!" she yelled, not caring if anyone saw. "Tell me then. What am I supposed to be now?" The last part was hissed out, her nostrils flaring.

Gendry studied her. After a long pause, Arya's chest still heaving, he reached down, running a hand through her loose hair. "I haven't a clue."

The air, suddenly charged with electricity, seemed to freeze around them. Arya rose up to her tiptoes, and without thinking, kissed the dirt right below his ear. Gendry tensed beneath her, but did not pull away. Arya trailed her kisses down, following the streak until they ended at the tip of his jaw. As her lips pulled away, his hand reached for her own, interlacing their fingers and bringing their hands high above her head. Gendry bent down, kissing hungrily at her lips for the briefest of seconds before releasing her hand. Arya looked up at him now, the rise and fall of their chests in sync.

"Come back for me," he breathed out, resting his forehead against her own.

Arya nodded, savoring the feel of his nose against hers, their lips just inches apart. "I will."

* * *

Walking beside the queen, Arya played with a loose thread on her tunic. The Kingslayer led their small party, with Ser Jorah rounding out the back. A handful of unsullied accompanied them, silent as they marched. To their right the Blackwater Bay glimmered, the smooth surface reflecting a thick blanket of stars from the clear sky. Their own ship lay about a mile down, secluded in an alcove off the bay.

"Did you have any pets growing up?" Dany asked, looking up. The queen had just finished telling Arya of the birth of her three dragons.

"My family found six direwolf pups in the woods. Mine was called Nymeria," Arya replied, suddenly uncomfortable. She reached up, rubbing the goose pimples crawling up her arms. Dany halted, giving Arya a knowing smile. The rest of their party came to a stop, mimicking their queen. Jaime turned to give them an exasperated look, which both girls ignored.

"I know how hard it is to speak of one's family, Arya. If you ever—"

Without warning, a scream went out. Arya and Dany whipped around towards the terrifying cry. One of the unsullied lay sprawled on the ground, dark blood seeping beneath the fletching of an arrow erupting from his throat. The queen screamed as another arrow went flying, this one grazing the arm of an unsullied as they ran to protect their queen, shields ready. Ser Jorah ran, sprinting up to protect her. Arya looked up amidst the chaos to where the arrow flew from, a point high up on the wall of the keep.

"Arya!" The voice caused Arya to peel her eyes away, now focusing at the dark form running towards her, crimson rippling from its shoulders. Jaime reached for her hand as another arrow pierced an unsullied's shield. "Arya, we have to go! Now!" Even in the darkness, Arya could make out the terrified pleading in his eyes.

She looked back once more at the queen, now on the round beneath a sea of iron and wood. From the distance she could make out more guards running towards them, ducking and rolling beneath a growing stream of arrows. Arya clasped onto the cold hand before her and ran.

Both at top speed, they sprinted away from the attack towards the end of the bay. Despite her agility, Jaime had longer legs, leaving her pulled along behind as they darted the arrows raining down. His cloak flew back at her, clouding her vision with blood before she ripped it away, tearing. On and on they seemed to run until he abruptly pulled her left, painfully jarring her wrist. A few yards ahead was their ship, unaffected in its alcove. High above on the ship a man began to yell, urging the crew to prepare to sail. Arya glanced behind; horrified at the battle taking place. Unsullied and unknowns now fought openly, their swords and steel reflecting off the bay and casting horrible shadows onto the keep's walls.

"Arya!" Jaime yelled, his voice distant. She looked up to find Jaime already on the ship, hands stretched down below the rail. Understanding and without looking back, Arya ran, springing off the hard ground until her hands were grabbed roughly from above, hauling her weight up. Another set of hands grabbed her legs as they appeared, yanking her over the edge before dropping her down hands first onto the hard deck. A hand reached for her own bruised one, but Arya shook her head in protest. Wincing, she propped herself up into a sitting positon, breathing hard as she leaned against the rail.

"What…in seven hells…was that?"

Although a small group of men now surrounded her, the crew no doubt, she looked only at Jaime. With a grim face, his eyes met her own. "It seems like the Tyrells have grown thorns." Jaime turned his face and spat at his feet.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading, and don't forget to review! I really enjoyed writing this chapter and would love to know what you think of it, and the story in general! I haven't gotten too much feedback on the last several chapters, so I really want to know what you're thinking. Thanks again!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Dust shimmered in the pale rays seeping through the cracked wall. Jaime blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stared at the wall. After the events last night, the crew had briefly introduced themselves before showing them to their room. The captain, Barrian Rok, was a known Targaryen loyalist and a former trader from Volantis. As they had descended below deck, a strange mixture of Volantene, Low Valyrian, and the Common Tongue flowed freely through the crew. Because of the nature of their mission, the queen had sent a rather small ship, with only a few cabins to accommodate those of higher status.

Jaime rolled over in his cot, turning his back on the low rumble of the sea. A few feet was all that separate him from the Stark girl, still asleep despite the constant rolling sea. She slept peacefully, no doubt exhausted from last night's attack. With her long, deep brown hair fanning out, hanging low over the cot's edge to meet the floor, she almost looked innocent. _Except for that dagger she clutches_ , he noted, staring at the blade held loosely in her fingers. As Jaime made to sit up, a sound filtered through the cabin door.

"Yes, yes!" the voice moaned, followed by some rather loud banging. Jaime sighed, falling back into bed. _It appears the captain brought another woman aboard_ , he groaned internally. Glancing over, he saw that Arya had awoken. The girl now lay on her side, cheek flattened by the hard matrass and clutching a pillow to her ear.

"Did our crew-mates wake you?" he teased, earning a glare and a groan.

"Only the Volantene fuck this loudly," she managed, despite her squished face.

Surprised by her comment, Jaime propped himself up on an elbow to stare at her. "And what would you know about fucking?"

Arya threw the pillow at the wall, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side. Her bare feet barely touched the floor, swinging loosely. "More than you think," she jested, flashing a wicked grin.

Now intrigued, Jaime sat up to match her positon. He noticed the slight flick of her eyes over his bare chest before meeting his own. "Tell me about your first time. I assume you're no maiden."

Although her eyes darkened, she shrugged. "Fine. It was in Braavos, I was fourteen." She said this simply, carelessly.

 _A little too carelessly_. Now uncertain if he wanted to hear the rest, Jaime opened his mouth to stop her but was interrupted as the girl continued.

"There was a man I was supposed to kill, Ser—some big Westerosi brute. He liked to frequent brothels. Braavosi cater to all tastes, and this one liked young girls. " Arya paused, swallowing. "You would think I'd remember the pain, the terrified feeling, but I don't. All I remember is the sweet look of surprise on his ugly face as my dagger opened his throat."

Jaime's heart thudded, and he found himself at loss for words. After several loud heartbeats, he said, "That's terrible." The words scratched at his dry tongue, coming out hoarse.

Arya blinked once, twice, before shaking her head as if to clear the memory away. "Tell me about yours," she said quietly, staring down at her dangling feet.

"I was also young, mayhap fifteen. There was a girl where I grew up, at the Rock." He looked away, choosing his words carefully. _Although all of Westeros knows of my past, perhaps this girl does not_. "A beautiful girl, kissed by the sun and the gods."

She nodded, raising her head. "And where is she now?"

A dark, haunting memory swam before his eyes. _She got the same fate as your first_ , he wanted to say. Instead, he replied simply, "I haven't a clue." It wasn't a lie, Jaime had no idea where Cersei had ended up. _One of the seven heavens or hells. The later, no doubt_.

By this point the moaning has ceased, the ship now alive with other noises. From above he could hear the pattering of feet and the jumbled song of voices. Jaime got up, walking over to his chest and pulling out a fresh tunic. Following his lead, Arya did the same. As she dressed in some thin breeches and a woven top, Jaime tried not to stare. It became especially hard as she shimmied out of her mud-stained breeches, her pale skin illuminating their dark cabin.

Now clothed, she spun around to grab her sword belt, buckling it to her hips. Arya gave him one of her mischievous, knowing smiles as she deftly braided her long hair. "Gods, you take longer than me," she jested as Jaime hurriedly laced up his boots.

After climbing the stairs they emerged, blinking, above deck. All around turquoise waves rolled gently, carrying the ship along in quiet agreement. The deck was crowded, with men of all colors running to and fro as the day began. Winding his way through, with Arya on his heels, he finally arrived at the captain's solar.

Inside the heavily windowed room sat Barrian, mulling over a map while picking from a bowl of fruit. The captain looked up when they entered, flashing an inviting smile.

"Welcome, my friends! It is good to see you in the daylight, good ser!" Barrian noticed Arya, whom he hadn't met last night. His grin widened as he reached across the table to kiss her hand. "And what a beauty you are, good lady! Your wife, no?" He directed the question at Jaime, but to her credit, Arya only smiled in response. _No doubt she knows the pleasantries required to keep a captain happy. It's only them between you and the sea_.

Jaime chuckled goodheartedly. "Alas, she is not. This is Arya Stark, my…traveling companion, a girl from the East." He was unsure of how much the captain knew of their mission, deciding it best to keep most a secret.

Barrian cocked his head, frowning. "The East, you say? Bah! Your girl is same as you, from Westeros. They don't make them that pretty in Essos!" He let out a great bellow before popping a grape into his mouth, the juice streaming down his jaw.

"True, a born northerner but she lived for many years in the East. Perhaps she even has knowledge of your native tongue." Jaime glanced over at Arya, who glared before painting on a smile.

"Dōrior dārion udrirzi mijessis," she replied in High Valyrian, earning another kiss on the hand. She turned to Jaime, smiling painfully. "No kingdom lacks a language," she translated before wiping her sticky hand across the tablecloth.

Jaime raised an eyebrow in approval before turning back to the captain. "Tell me of our voyage," he remarked, taking a seat and gesturing for Arya to do the same. Barrian clapped his hands, and from a curtained doorway an olive-skinned woman emerged carrying a tray heaped with breads, fruits, and cheeses. She was plump, but comely in a foreign way. As she walked around the table, balancing the tray, Jaime shared a look with Arya, both of them fighting the urge to laugh. _Our morning wake-up call_ _has a face_.

"My wife!" Barrian called out, slapping her arse playfully on the way out. "We switch, no?" he said, pointing a butter knife from Arya to himself.

Jaime sighed, ignoring Barrian's question and Arya's jarring elbow to the ribs. "How long remains of the voyage?"

Barrian took a large bite out of his bread before responding, crumbs latching onto his wiry beard. "Two weeks, if the gods are good. I don't only carry pretty Westerosi on my ship, silk and spice too. My Braavosi friends demand much this season, they say bad things are to come."

"What kinds of bad things?" It was Arya who spoke this time, grabbing a peeled orange.

"Nonsense, good lady. These Braavosi worry too much and think too little!"

Arya frowned as she pried apart the juicy slices with the tip of her dagger. "Tell me anyhow," she demanded.

A look of concern washed over the captain's face before resuming its jolly expression. "More pirates on the sea, more demons in the shadows. Stories for little boys and girls!"

Sensing his uneasiness, Jaime reached forward to give the captain a comforting pat on the hand. "Do not worry, my friend. The queen pays you to take us there, that is all. We can find further transportation ourselves."

Barrian gave a relieved look. "Thank you, good ser. And I thank the silver queen. Excuse me now, I have a ship to sail!" He pushed back from the map-laden table, shaking Jaime's hand and planting a sloppy kiss on Arya's cheek before heading out.

Jaime looked to his right, where Arya was licking juice off the tip of her dagger. "Not the strangest man I've met. Sailors are always a funny lot. At least they've got good fruit."

He nodded, standing up. "I'm going out to meet the crew. It's probably best that you stay here or below deck, where it's not dangerous." Just as his hand reached the brass doorknob, something sharp tickled the back of his neck. Moving just his eyes, Jaime focused in on the tip of a dagger pressed into the nape of his neck.

"Dangerous for a pretty lion, perhaps." Although Jaime could not turn his head, he could hear the wicked smile playing on her lips. She laughed, lowering the blade and stepping in front of him to yank open the door.

* * *

 _A fun chapter, a bit of a filler but it has interesting information! As always, please review! I would love some feedback on how you like Arya's character! I always imagined her becoming quite a different person because of all that she's been through, at least on the outside. Let me know what you think, thanks!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Arya breathed in the crisp air, perfumed by the familiar spicy scent that could only truly belong to one city: Braavos. She smiled up as the ship passed through the Titan's widespread legs, shadowed for the briefest of seconds before emerging into the bustling port. Jaime walked up beside her, leaning on the rail as he looked over the city.

"Different from King's Landing," she commented as a courtesan barge floated lazily past, slickened men and woman dancing and posing from the deck. Arya watched Jaime's eyes as he took everything in, the wonder and shock evident in the flecked green.

"It was always my brother who dreamed of seeing the world, never me. I was content with a sword in my hand and some gold in my pocket. And look at me now…" He trailed off, absorbed in the sights and smells.

To Arya, Braavos was really the only place that felt like home. She had spent so much time here as a girl, learning and listening until the city became part of her.

"Lower the damn anchor!" a voice boomed from behind. Jaime broke his gaze, smiling as Barrian clapped him on the shoulder, rumbling with laughter. "You like the city, no? I have seen many a Westerosi knights come here, never to return!"

The ship came to a jarring halt, sending Arya flying forward before she fastened onto the nearest thing: Jaime. He stumbled backwards against her weight, sending the both of them crashing against the slippery deck.

"Hells, girl!" he exclaimed, but Arya knew it was said in jest. Feeling her face flush, Arya quickly pushed off his chest and pulled herself back up.

"So sorry, _my lord_ ," she scoffed, trying to rub out a suspicious new stain from her breeches. Jaime rolled his eyes and made his way to the ramp, now lowered to meet the rickety dock below. Barrian had anchored the ship in one of the poorer sections of the port, as not to draw suspicion from the Braavosi sealords and nobles.

Ignoring the ramp, Arya leaped over the rail, landing smoothly on her feet under Jaime's exasperated eye. "What? You were taking to long."

Once Jaime had caught up, Arya offered out her arm. He cast a suspicious look before grudgingly taking it, allow her to lead him towards the main port. "It's not like you know where to go," she explained.

"And where do _you_ plan on going? I'd say we make for the Iron Bank and ask if we could borrow coin for a ship. They've supported the queen—"

"And would love nothing more than to lock up the son of the lion that fucked them over," she interrupted. "Just…wait for me here, all right? I've got to take care of something." Before Jaime could open his mouth Arya slipped away from his arm, weaving in front of some old crone waving fish in her face.

"And what am I supposed to do?!" she heard Jaime call out as he attempted to follow.

"Buy yourself something pretty!" Arya yelled back before slipping between two arguing sellswords, disappearing into the crowd.

* * *

The great doors loomed tall and proud before her, but Arya was not daunted by this place. The House of Black and White had been her home for many moons as well as place to return to after completing assignments. Arya paused, breathing in the damp scent and remembering her last time in the House.

" _A girl has returned, successful?" Jaqen H'ghar asked, his voice clear and sure. Even when she made no sound entering the temple, he always knew._

" _Yes," Arya whispered. "Who does The Many Faced God claim next?" Now he turned around, his bright eyes solemn._

" _A girl will take not only one, but two this time. She will travel to the land of the Andals to take the dragon queen and her king."_

 _Confusion clouded her eyes. "Daenerys Targaryen has no king."_

 _Jaqen clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Then a girl will be patient. The Many Faced God will wait until this queen is ready."_

 _Arya closed her eyes at the word "queen", but she was not afraid. The Many Faced God took the weak and powerful alike, but she could not help but question this choice. "Why? I hear that the dragon queen is very good and just."_

 _He clicked again. "A girl should not ask these questions. You know that only death can pay for life. Someone in the far East steals from The Many Faced God, and we must pay him back. The lives of two dragons will pay for many. Go now, child. Go find the dragon queen and king."_

After adjusting to the darkness, Arya padded forward through entryway. Looking around, she realized that the temple was empty, the only sign of movement being the tranquil stream of the fountain. _It is never empty in the House of Black and White, there are always those who which to leave this world_. Hugging the wall, Arya made her way around to the adjacent tunnel's entrance. Just as she poked her head around the corner, a rattling clatter caused her to freeze, pulling away. She listened, not breathing, as muffled footsteps shuffled over to pick the object up, metal scraping on the slick floor. First one, than another voice screeched in a strange, nasal tongue. The voices grew louder, and as Arya peeked out once more, she saw long, human-like shadows entranced in some kind of brawl. _Jaqen is not here_ , she realized as the screeches grew higher, the shrieks echoing in the narrow tunnel. Arya ran, as fast as possible in the darkness towards the thin beam of light escaping from the temple doors. She did not look back, allowing the rush of fear and dread to carry her, hopefully unheard, away from the House.

* * *

Arya pulled back her hair, swiping back the loose wisps in an attempt to compose herself. Pushing through the dense crowd, she made her way to where she hoped Jaime would be waiting. "Jaime!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. Only a swaggering sellsword answered her call, hooting with a near toothless grin.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath. _Where could he have gone?_ Arya tapped the shoulder of the woman to her right. With amber doe-eyes the woman blinked up, smirking with her blue lips.

"Yes, pretty girl?" the woman cooed in a heavy accent, twirling a loose strand of hair.

Arya sighed. _I have forgotten what the whores of Braavos are like—they seduce anyone who might show them a coin_. "I'm looking for someone; a tall, Westerosi knight with golden hair." The whore feigned confusion, batting her lashes. "Fine," Arya snapped, pulling out an iron piece. The woman took it greedily, slipping it far into her silks.

"Over there," she said, jerking her chin. Arya turned to look—the whore had nodded towards one of the many Braavosi taverns.

Before she could thank her the woman had slipped away, now walking her fingers up some rapt merchant's chest. Arya wove in and out through the market before coming to a halt before the tavern. "The Dragoness" a seasoned plaque read, the gold paint chipping from years of Braavosi sea-storms. Inside men of all kinds laughed and slapped their thighs, wine splashing from their overflowing cups. To her right a serving wench leaned over a table, taking an order from a blue-bearded Tyroshi while his friend fondled at her hip. Arya tried to squeeze past the narrow aisle when a clammy hand yanked her back by the wrist.

"Come sit with us, eh pretty girl?" The man leered up with beady eyes, dark wine dribbling down his coarse beard. Three other men sat round the table, jeering in agreement.

"Piss on that," Arya spat, slipping her dagger into her palm. His grip tightened, jerking her forward. Arya watched as his eyes slid from breast to hip before narrowing in on her sword.

"Whadda you need that for? We'll give you a real sword, won't we?" He laughed, wine spurting from his fat lips. Arya smiled back coldly, bending down to his ear and placing her hand on his neck. From where she stood the man's friends were blocked from sight, but Arya could hear their whistles as she leaned in.

"Who needs a real sword? That's what daggers are for," she whispered. His eyes widened in child-like horror as Arya shifted her hand, allowing the dagger to glide smoothly into his meaty neck. "Puncture wounds take forever to bleed out, what a pity." Arya smirked, straightening up and wiggling her fingers in goodbye. The friends increased their hollering, oblivious to their now gurgling friend, his mouth puffy and swollen with blood.

"Arya!" A sloppy shout came from the far corner. Making her way over, she could see Jaime waving his golden hand. As she got closer, she made out the others seated at the shadowed table. Four men, seemingly Braavosi nobles, stared curiously up at her. "Ah, yes. Very good you're here. I've just been saying, _wife_ , how kind it is for these men to share their ship up the Rhoyne with us." His words were slurred, tumbling loosely from his tongue. _After two weeks at sea, he chooses_ now _to get drunk?_

Playing along, Arya discreetly sheathed her dagger down the back of her breeches before smiling warmly at first Jaime then the Braavosi. "How wonderful, _my lord husband_ and good sers." Arya slid into Jaime's lap, portraying the ever-dutiful wife. "How wonderful," she repeated, pinching Jaime hard in the ribs.

* * *

 _Another (long) chapter finished! Excited to see where this story is headed? Then feel free to ask questions, leave reviews, and share with your friends! Thanks!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"I still _cannot_ believe that you did this!" The words hit the same time as the icy water—stinging and harsh. Jaime sputtered, muscles clenching as he tried to shield himself from the next bucket.

"If you do that one more time I swear—" His fingers scrambled for his sword, only to find it missing. _And of course the wolf-bitch stole my sword_ , he thought, huffing. Finally daring to open his eyes, he squinted at the girl before him, taking in the hands placed angrily at her hips. "What the bloody hell was I supposed to do? You disappeared, remember? That left finding a ship up to me. It's not like we'll be floating down the Rhoyne in a pleasure barge!"

"Oh, and ship full of whoring, gambling Braavosi nobles is so much better?" Arya let the buck fall down, the remaining ice chips sliding out onto the Myrish carpet.

"Who cares? They think I'm some wealthy lord from Westeros, and it's not like we haven't got the coin." _At least Daenerys had the sense to fill up our purses._

"And of course I've got to play your swooning new lady wife?"

Jaime grinned sheepishly. Granted, he'd been drunk when he thought of it, but it _was_ the least questionable option. "Either that or you'll spend two months being courted by all kinds of Braavosi nobles."

Arya just glared at him. "If you even try to put your hands on me—"

"You'll dagger me in the neck. Noted." As they had followed the swirling Braavosi robes from the tavern, Jaime had noticed a purple-face man with blood streaming from his nose. Not that his friends noticed—they were all too busy drowning in their cups or the serving wench's breasts. "It's just till we reach Volantis, then you can go back to swinging a sword and rolling in shit or whatever else you do." With that Jaime left the room, wringing out the end of his soaked tunic as he walked.

It was a strange ship, like nothing he'd ever seen back in Westeros. Incredibly long and swift was the hull, perfect for the narrow rivers frequent in the East. Despite being wickedly quick, the ship was fashioned as to serve its patrons every luxury imaginable—draped, mysterious rooms filled with exotic fruits and women, tiled ballrooms and baths, and even a fighting arena to train in at your leisure. The captain, Tychys Sanerion, had given his Westerosi guests a fine cabin, insisting that the "newlywed Andals" travel in upmost comfort. Jaime didn't doubt that it had more to do with the heavy purse he had handed over on their way aboard, but did not argue with the loud Braavosi.

"Could you point me to the baths?" he said, stopping the first man he'd come upon in the long hallway.

The man looked up, cheerfully babbling in something that sounded a bit like Valyrian before pointing to an azure-painted door. Jaime clapped him on the back, shaking his head in amusement as he pulled open the ivory handle. A sweetened steam greeted him, billowing out into the hall. Stepping inside, he found a mostly empty pool attended by two willowy girls, who smiled obediently from their perches.

Stripping out of his damp clothes and unbuckling his hand, Jaime slid into the steaming water, groaning at the heat worked at his muscles. _I've got to say…this bath is quite nicer than the one I shared with the wench_.

"Gooday to you ser!" A voice called from the opposite side. Jaime held up a hand politely, nodding.

"Day, is it?" He wondered out loud. The man chuckled, wadding closer till Jaime could make out his features in the fog. He was fair of skin, with flecks of silver by his ears hinting that he was a bit older than Jaime himself. "Are you from Westeros?"

"Aye, Eliar Durwell of Duskendale, but I do business in the capital. You?"

Duskendale, he remembered, was a large port city just north of King's Landing. "Ser Kevan of House Lorch, from here and there," he said casually, not daring to use his real name. _Oh how my father and uncle would have loved this_.

"And what brings you to the great barges of Braavos—business or pleasure?"

Jaime chuckled before responding. "Pleasure I suppose, I'm here with my new lady wife."

"Ah, the northern beauty I saw climbing aboard, I suppose! A wild creature from the looks of her! Reminds me of a girl I once saw in the capitol… Lady… Arabella?... Amerila?... Ary—"

"Bryanna," Jaime said quickly, cutting him off. "Lady Bryanna," he repeated, sharply this time.

Eliar raised his palms from the steaming pool in appeasement. "You have nothing to worry about, my friend. I've got a girl at home. But these Braavosi," he tutted, "they're the ones to watch out for…"

Clearing his throat, Jaime eased back against the tiled pool wall. "Do you have news from the capital?"

"Aye. In fact I got a raven just the other day. Apparently there was an attack on the queen."

Water streamed from his shoulders as he sat up, intent. "Is she all right?" Although he had heard sailors in Braavos chatting about tidings in the kingdoms, none had mentioned the outcome of that night. _If the Tyrells took the keep already…this whole mission is for naught._

Eliar gave him a questioning look. "Why, of course she is, my friend! There are stories that some unmarked soldiers, dressed only in pink, snuck in, only to be roasted alive by the queen herself!"

Now it was Jaime's turn to look quizzical, but he did his best not to roll his eyes. _Doubtful, but at least they say she is unharmed._

After exchanging a few more pleasantries with the Westerosi trader, Jaime excused himself and climbed out of the bath. One of the girls handed him a thick towel and a clean tunic and breeches, winking as he dried himself off and changed.

Arriving back at his cabin, Jaime quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside. Arya had left only one beeswax candle burning, so he softly blew out the flame before glancing over at the bed. Tychys had rejected Jaime's demand for two beds, insisting that Jaime "take his rights" with his new bride. He sighed, looking down. Arya's chest rose and fell beneath the silk sheets, her movement somehow more noticeable than the faint rocking of the swift ship. Walking around to the opposite side, Jaime pulled back the sheets and climbed in.

"Get out," Arya groaned, rolling over as he lowered his weight onto the mattress.

"Your my wife, wolf girl. Remember?" he teased, earning a halfhearted smack.

"I'll still knife you in your sleep," she murmured, voice thick and hoarse.

Jaime smiled, almost tempted to reach out and stoke the tumbling curls splayed out in front of him. "I'm sure you will," he whispered, shutting his eyes.

* * *

 _I have just got to say how much I'm enjoying writing this story, and I hope that you are enjoying it too! As always, reviews are always welcome and thanks for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 _Golden eyes flickered through the dense brush. Arya pulled herself up with a low branch, peering out into the darkness. "Nymeria!" she called out, the orbs growing brighter, closer. The direwolf padded lightly into the clearing, tail wagging in pure bliss. There was something different about the direwolf now; she had grown into her name, a name reserved for the fabled warrior-princess of Dorne._

 _"You're back, Nymeria. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Arya choked back her sobs, burying her face into her wolf's shaggy coat. "I'm so alone here," she whispered to the wolf, to the trees. "This isn't my home anymore." Nymeria let out a sad yip, turning thrice in a circle before settling down behind Arya. She felt safe now, pressed against the warm, comforting body of her wolf._

"Never leave me," Arya murmured, pulling herself closer to the warm—

" _Fuck_!" she whispered. It appeared that at one point during the night Jaime had forgotten her warning, as she was now pinned tightly against his chest. _And of course I left my dagger on the night table._ Arya tried to squirm out from his strong hold, only enticing him to grip tighter as he sighed into his sleep.

"Jaime!" she hissed, elbowing his chest. He murmured something inaudible into her hair. "Jaime!" Arya repeated, this time bringing up a foot, kicking at his shin.

He startled, but instead of rolling backwards and off he rolled _forwards_ , caging her beneath his arms. "It's not nice to kick someone who's sleeping," Jaime accused in a teasing, albeit drowsy voice as he smirked down at her.

Arya flushed, turning her head to the side to avoid looking at his face. _An inch apart_ , she couldn't help but notice. "Get the fuck off me, Jaime."

Jaime chuckled, rolling off and onto his side. "As you wish, my lady."

"Don't call me that," she snapped, untangling herself from the sheets and climbing out. Ignoring his stare Arya ducked behind the paneled changing wall, peeling off her traveling clothes and slipping on a simple Braavosi-style gown she had lain out the previous night. The airy fabric was perfect for the humid climate of the cities, but perhaps not as much so for the cooler rivers. _The captain must have put our trunks in storage_ , she mused.

"I'm going to explore the ship," she declared, glaring at the still groggy knight. Jaime let out what sounded like a protest before falling back onto the soft pillows. "If we're going to be spending two months in this place, we'd better make some rich Braavosi friends."

"I'm Kevan and your name's Bryanna! And don't do anything stupid" Jaime called out in a thick voice as the door slammed behind her.

 _I wonder what the old knight would consider stupid?_ Arya wondered, grinning as she stepped into the hall.

* * *

It was well past midnight before Jaime found Arya. He had spent the day chatting with the captain and his crew, learning much of the Braavosi customs and ways. Apparently this particular barge, _The Screaming Siren_ , was host to a bastard son of Tormo Fregar himself, the current Braavosi sealord. Later in the afternoon a noble, nothing more than a grinning green boy, had challenged Jaime to a mock duel in one of the ship's fighting arenas.

"We shall see who is the best man!" The amethyst-robed boy had loudly declared, twirling a flashing silver blade from his hand. "The dashing young lord or a crippled Andal?" _The lad will sing songs of the golden Westerosi knight who bested him_ , Jaime recalled, smirking.

Jaime now emerged above deck, smiling up at the golden stars dusting the night sky. "A Lannister finally sees gold besides the pieces he shits," Jaime muttered under his breath.

On the north side of the deck a large crowd had drawn, dancing and drinking beneath a wide sheer tent. _It's like the Braavosi don't even know they're on a boat._ Smiling and nodding as he pushed his way through the boisterous (and rather drunk) party, Jaime stumbled into the center.

"Seven. Fucking. Hells!" he cried out, eyes widening at the scene before him. Lying across a round table, once covered in colorful glasses of wine based on the smashed crystal littered about, was Arya. Men and woman alike laughed and tipped back their goblets, hollering at their supposed entertainment. Gown torn open and breasts spilling out, Arya arched her back as a red-bearded man crawled up to her, bending low over her exposed chest. Jaime stood frozen in horror, his heart thumping madly in its cage.

"He has to remove the dagger without his hands!" a man yelled into Jaime's ear with sickly-sweet breath. "That's how yeh win a Braavosi drinking game!" The man laughed, snorting into his cup.

"Excuse me?" Jaime hissed, blinking back into reality as hot rage clouded his eyes. He pushed roughly past the drunkard and knocked a goblet from a woman's hand as he reached the table. _So much for not doing anything stupid_ , he seethed. Just as the bearded man began to suck at space between her breasts with the blade between his teeth, Jaime ripped him away by the neck, tossing him carelessly back against the excited onlookers.

"Game's over!" Jaime shouted over his shoulder, the party hissing in disappointment. He bent down, scooping Arya up into his arms. Her head lolled back as she tried to weakly protest, and when he hoisted her up Jaime could smell the hard stench on her breath. Fuming, Jaime carried her past the now hushed crowd and stomped loudly down the stairs to their cabin below deck.

After setting the near-lifeless girl onto the bed, Jaime rummaged through his trunk, throwing over a long tunic. "Change," he commanded, turning. When he finally thought it safe to look Jaime walked back over and sat beside her. Arya was cross-legged and childlike in the swimming tunic, holding her head in her hands.

"So when I said don't do anything stupid…" Jaime started, raising an eyebrow.

"I thought you meant don't _kill_ anyone," Arya tried to jest, but it came out in more of a low groan. Jaime stared at her expectantly till she raised her eyes, bloodshot and fogged from the liquor. "Why do you even care so much?"

Jaime ground his teeth but tried not to sound too angry. "I promised Daenerys that I'd protect you on this mission, Arya."

" _Protect_ me? I can do that myself. I never needed someone before," she huffed.

"So I was supposed to just leave you there, half naked while some dirty Braavosi had his way with you? Thanks, but I'd rather suffer your wrath instead. Besides, what do you think the nobles would think if they saw my "wife" like that? We don't have time for the questions, Arya. The less they suspect the better. You know how dangerous things got in King's Landing the night we left, and there's no telling who might be a spy over here. Just trust me."

Arya drew up her knees, exposing the pale undersides of her thighs as the tunic rode up. Jaime looked away, clenching his jaw. "Trust you?" she said quietly, almost to herself. Then again, louder. " _Trust you_?" He looked back over, taking in her flashing eyes. "Why would I trust you, _kingslayer_?"

 _Ah, so this is her problem_ , Jaime thought bitterly as he sucked on his teeth. "The queen appointed me."

Arya chucked from the bed. "Tell me why she would do something so _stupid_ ," she spat, waiting for his reply.

"It doesn't—"

" _Tell me_."

Jaime looked away again, staring at the flayed threads hanging limply her discarded gown. "She gave me a choice," he whispered.

"Go on," Arya said, her voice now soft.

He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, before continuing. "It was after she arrived in King's Landing. After dealing with the Wall and the Riverlands, she flew south to the capitol. The dragons burned through whole villages, even outskirts of the city."

"I know how the war went, Jaime," she reminded him firmly. _I know, but that's what is easy to tell_.

"My family and the Tyrells were holed up in the keep, praying foolishly that the dragon queen wouldn't win. We were wrong. It was the bumbling fool, Mace Tyrell, who opened our gates that day. I still remember what she looked like when the attack started."

"Daenerys?"

"No…my twin. The unsullied attacked, grabbing Myrcella and King Tommen and the rest while I fought. But I dropped my sword when I saw knives at all of their throats. The queen—that tiny little queen—had my sister by the hair, a Valyrian dagger pressed against her white throat."

"Did she kill her?"

Another swallow. "The queen gave me a choice and threw Cersei down at my feet," he said thickly. "Two choices; 'Kill your sister and you, as well as your kin, may keep your life so long as you swear complete fealty to my rule. Or you watch as the children burn alive."

A hand tentatively reached for his face, brushing at his cheek with trembling fingers. Jaime watched as Arya drew back her hand, staring at her shiny fingertips. "Tell me," she whispered.

Jaime took a ragged breath. "Cersei screamed at me to save her, and in that moment I hated my sister. She never looked at her frightened, crying children. She just looked at me with wild, weeping eyes…and I hated her. All my life I'd been ruled by my sister, a loyal servant to her every whim. Even after Cersei turned her back on me, I was expected to save her… and so I wrapped my golden hand around her soft neck… _Valonqar_ was the final word to pass her lips. Ever since that day I swore myself the silver queen. I do not fully understand it myself, why I did it."

Arya shifted closer, leaning against his arm. "Jaime…you cared about your children."

He nodded against her hair, blinking at his stinging eyes. "I once said that we don't choose whom we love…but nothing really matters in the end…" Jaime trailed off, leaning into the girl beside him. Looking down, he watched as Arya traced shapes on his golden palm. A voice—her voice—began to softly sing in a high, airy tone.

" _You swam beneath the deepest sea,_

 _To pick up what I had 'lost'._

 _But my dear, that's where I mean to be,_

 _To join the tears I'd tossed."_

Jaime pulled slightly away, her sad words swimming before his eyes. "What is that?" he asked, searching her face. He realized that the song had touched her eyes, two streaks winding down her pale cheeks.

"I heard it once, on some ship somewhere. I don't know what it's called."

"Why do you cry?" he asked gently.

"You're not the only one with a sad story, Jaime." She sniffed once before hastily wiping at her face. "Thank you for before," she said in quiet composure.

With that Jaime saw as she donned her mask—a pretty, deadly mask—and leaned back against the bed, curling up beneath the sheets. Jaime followed her, easing back and pulling one arm behind his head. They laid there in the darkness, and Jaime knew that sleep refused Arya as well. Without turning, without looking, Jaime stretched out his fingers to meet hers, hanging on by a simple touch to the sad girl drifting down the river beside him.

* * *

 _Woo, a rather emotionally charged chapter, I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know in the reviews! Thanks!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Following that night Jaime and Arya quickly slipped into a pattern—spending their days together but always reminded of a quiet reservation that hung over the air, even despite the ever cooling breeze. Arya wasn't quite sure _why_ things had changed; perhaps it had to do with the revelation of Jaime's past, and how it reminded her so much of her own. Or perhaps it was the growing comfort that _The Shrieking Siren_ provided, for nothing bad seemed to happen on the exotic barge. The strange people, the spicy food, the cabins and baths and decks dripping and draped in foreign luxury made Arya nearly forget her belief that pretty things always come at a price.

"Eliar informs me that we should reach Volantis by nightfall," Jaime told her. The two of them stood by the very tip of the barge, right above the ebony siren guiding the slender ship. Arya supposed that she was once beautiful, carved from rich wood into the form of a singing maiden, but now she was covered in a thick coat of the river she reigned over, crusted in salt, kelp, and rot. _Only this siren sings the truth_ , Arya thought as she peered down. _And how sad she is, alone in her disillusionment._

"And you believe your friend?

Jaime shrugged, staring out at the river. Although the sun had began its decent into the horizon, dense fog hung over the water, showing them only a hazy orange glow from all sides. Not even the river's edge could be made out in the heavy gloom. "He is a trader," Jaime put simply.

Arya frowned. "A trader from King's Landing, you mean. The man may know every port and fisherman on the Blackwater but the gods in the Seven Kingdoms do not curse us with these fogs. Your friend cannot see the city just as I cannot see my own hand." She stuck her hand out from the rail, squinting and trying to decipher her own palm. Jaime's eyes followed—her hand was nowhere to be seen.

"Yes, all right. I see your point," he snapped, snatching her arm away from the edge. Arya grinned simply because Jaime had been proven wrong. "But if the fog _did_ clear out we'd be staring at a city, not your damn fingers."

It was far later in the evening when Arya noticed that the ship began to slow. "Jaime!" she hissed, shoving him. They had settled into a bench overlooking the river, and Jaime had eventually fallen sleep against her. _So now I have to wake him_ and _tell him he's right?_ A slowing ship at this hour could only mean one thing—they had arrived.

When he didn't stir, Arya flicked his cheek, rolling her eyes as he yawned lazily. "I told you so," he teased, groaning as he stretched his arms.

Looking out, Arya realized that the fog was becoming brighter—orbs of yellow, orange, red, and green popping up in the distance until the light became flames and the flames became a city bursting vividly from the darkness. "I have never been to Volantis before," Arya whispered.

Jaime opened his mouth, speechless at the blurred luminosity that lay before them. After closing his mouth twice and licking his lips, Jaime turned to her, his eyes showing a strange mixture of bewilderment and amusement. "And I thought you'd been everywhere in the East."

Closer and closer, slower and slower they drifted towards the city. As they neared port the sticky fog began to lift, revealing a city bathed in the light of a million stars and torches. "That's the Long Bridge," Arya said, pointing to her right as the ship came to a smooth halt. "They say it is one of the nine wonders built by man." She stared up at the looming structure, transfixed by the shops and people and—elephants?—that seemed to occupy the road high above.

"Arya," he hissed into her ear. Annoyed, she turned to follow his gaze. "We have company."

On the far side of the barge a ramp had been lowered to the dock, but it was not the swarming Braavosi nobles drawing their gaze. Arya cupped a hand to her ear while Jaime looked on, hand at his sword.

"Lanta vesterosīha…valzȳrys se ābrazȳrys…" It was the low, worried voice of their captain, Tychys, speaking in High Valyrian to a group of soldiers on the dock. _Two Westerosi, husband and wife_.

"What are they saying?" Jaime whispered. Arya waved her hand impatiently, hushing him.

"Tychys is talking about _us_ , Jaime. He sounds confused. Now please _shut up_ so I can hear."

Arya took a step forward, hiding herself behind the mast to hear better. "Pōnta ila. Āeksio ondos mīsio se zoklītsos hēnkirī, qelbōñe… gēlion dāria," one of the Volantene shot back, his tongue quick and harsh. _They lie. Hand of gold knight and little wolf together, coming from a river._ That was all she could make out, and it was enough.

"Skorio syt?" Tychys asked as the soldiers began to push their way aboard, Braavosi onlookers beginning to scatter in fear. "Kelītīs!" _Why_? _Stop!_

"Jaime we have to go, _now_." As she said it the soldiers pulled out their curved blades, one holding Tychys by the throat as the others grabbed the remaining nobles. Arya whipped her head around—the ramp was blocked, more soldiers were running up to the dock on all sides. _The river_.

Recognizing the threat—albeit a moment too late—Jaime started to unsheathe his great sword with a grim expression. "We'll need to fight our way out. Stay here."

Arya grabbed Jaime's hand, jerking him beside her behind the mast. "Do you know how to swim?" she asked in a low voice, breathing hard. Jaime paused and looked at her indignantly, still gripping the hilt of his half-drawn sword.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he seethed. From behind a sharp clash of steel on steel rang out, followed by a scream. When she didn't answer he finally hissed back, "Of course I do, wolf-girl. I grew up on the fucking Sunset Sea."

Nodding at his response, Arya pointed at the rail facing out towards the river, away from the docks. "Good." With that she yanked him forward, sprinting towards the rail. Someone shouted in High Valyrian but she ignored it, feeling only the golden hand in hers and the slippery deck beneath her feet as sheran. The rail loomed closer and closer and right before her hips were about to come crashing against the wood she threw off Jaime's hand and _jumped._

* * *

 _A cliffhanger, how exciting! Who wants to find out if they make it? Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter—was all the Valyrian too much? It's actually kind of fun to look it up, so let me know if you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and don't forget to share, follow, favorite, and review! It's because of_ you _that I continue writing and updating this story_ _._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

He had no choice but to follow her. The dark river hit him like a shock, sending ice through his veins and fire to his lungs. But still Jaime dove deeper, squinting through the murky Rhoyne at Arya's kicking feet leading the way. _And my father said that lions have no business learning to swim_.

Gasping and gulping Jaime broke the surface. He looked madly around—the freezing water could start panic in even the calmest of men—until he saw Arya up ahead, already crawling ashore. It appeared that they had swum two hundred yards or so away from the ship, and now the only exit from the river was a modest beach, strewn with the broken glass left by drunkards and the broken bones left by fishwives. Dragging himself up the rocky shore, Jaime dropped down beside the girl. His head lolled to the side in exhaustion and he tried not to laugh—laughing hurt too much.

"You," he rasped, "you look like a wet cat." And she did. Arya's silk gown was thoroughly soaked through, clinging to every bone and bump jutting out from her slight frame. He leaned over to pick a strand of rotted kelp from her knotted hair, dangling the green weed above her face so that it tickled her nose.

Arya scowled, snatching it from his hand. "This isn't funny, Jaime. Someone knows that we're here, and I really don't think they want to chat…how could the Volantene know we were coming before we'd even arrived? And they knew about _me_ , Jaime. I'm supposed to be dead."

Jaime furrowed his brow. "It must have been someone on the ship, they could have sent a raven down to the city…"

"Whatever, we can deal with that later. Right now we have to decide what to do next," she said, patting herself until she found whatever she searched for. "Found it," she declared, reaching into her clinging bodice and pulling out a dagger. Arya began to stand up, pushing off the rocky sand with her palms.

"You are _not_ leaving," Jaime hissed firmly, grabbing her ankle before she could step away.

"Get the fuck off me, Jaime." Arya wrenched free from his slippery grasp. She shot him a dark glare. "All of our things are back at the ship—my sword, our gold, our _clothes_ ," she emphasized, picking at where the silk stuck to her skin. "You're too recognizable, but no one looks too closely at a whore."

Before Jaime could protest the dagger ripped through her skirt, shearing the wet silk off till it barely grazed the tops of her milky thighs. She then moved to the bodice, tearing the front as to expose the tops of her breasts. He swallowed, setting his jaw at the stirring in his groin. _She's just a girl_ , Jaime told himself as his face flushed. _Just a fucking she-wolf._ When the screeching of silk had stopped Jaime looked back up. Arya smirked from above, sheathing the dagger back down her much wider bodice till it settled against her ribs. "Do you really think I haven't done this before?" Bending down, she gave Jaime a pat—reassuring or in pity he wasn't sure—on the hand and then stepped away.

"I'll be back in an hour or so, stay here!" she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the dark with tattered silk swinging idly from her hips.

"Wake up." A soft voice commanded, followed by a nudge to his shoulder. "It's time to go." When Jaime opened his eyes brightness flooded in, prying at his lids. Squinting, Jaime looked around the small beach still he settled on Arya, standing above him with her foot at his side, now dressed in leather breeches and a sleeveless silk top. A sword hung from her hip.

"Why—how long were you gone?"

Arya held out a hand, helping Jaime climb to his feet. "It took…longer than I thought. But I got our stuff back, and I even snagged some fishcakes from the dock."

"Do I want to know why pretending to be a whore to sneak into the dock took all night?"

Arya raised an eyebrow. _I guess that answers that question._ "Get changed," she retorted, turning to rummage through a crate and tossing him his clothes.

Jaime peeled off his tunic and breeches—still damp from last night's swim—and smirked at Arya's bright face. "Nothing you haven't seen before," he teased. _Not a thing you say everyday to a cold northern maid… But then again, she's no more northern than she is a maid anymore_.

"Just hurry up," she replied quietly, turning around and plopping herself down on the crate.

Once clothed and dry, Jaime walked over and broke off half the cake in her hand. He chewed the salty dough as Arya plowed hungrily through her own. "So," he started, wiping crumbs from his stubbled jaw, "what's the plan?"

"Well…we have three options. One—we take the Demon Road and hightail it out of this place. Two—we find a ship heading east through the Smoking Sea, but I doubt we'll make it aboard without our throats first being slit. And three—we wait."

"Wait?" he replied in faint amusement.

"Aye.." Jaime waited until she looked up from stuffing in a second cake. "Wha?" Jaime rolled his eyes as the soggy crumbs spewed from her lips. Finally, after chewing for what seemed like ages she spoke again. "It seems to me like anything bad that happens to us is caused by one plan or another. So we walk around the city and try not to get killed—or kill anyone for that matter—and _wait_ until those gods you pray to hold up a fucking sign that points to the way out," she paused, yanking Jaime's wineskin from his belt and taking a swig. "Maybe the Crone will light a fucking candle." She pulled a face of mock amazement before tipping back the skin again.

Exasperated, Jaime tore the wine away from her lips and nudged at her shoulder to scoot over, joining her on the crate. "I don't believe in the Seven." He swallowed the bitter drink, grimacing.

A surprised look. "No? Then what do you believe in? Don't tell me its your pretty sword," she teased, bumping her knee playfully into his own. Jaime stared down at where their legs remained touching.

"As a boy I never listened to the septons, all their books and rules and hells. I had something," _someone_ , "else that I worshiped. The septons called me a fool when I told them." Jaime chuckled but did not know why. "But I've always been a fool, I suppose." A hand, a small hand, rested gently on his thigh—the gesture was comforting, he realized. _Why does she comfort me?_ It was not a question of her action; it was a question of himself.

"In the North we had no names for our gods. Whatever, _whomever_ , you believed in did not matter. Just that you cared about something more than yourself." Jaime covered her small hand with his own large one, squeezing her fingers. "Do you care, Jaime?" Arya whispered, and she too stared where they touched.

 _About the Gods? About my sister? About my father and brother and queen and sword and hand? About…_ Jaime lifted his palm until he could feel her smooth cheek against his flesh. A few grains of salt fell away. He ran his thumb from ear to jaw and felt the pale skin erupt with goose pimples under his touch. A hand remained on his thigh, but now the fingers clutched at the soft leather. Stilling his thumb at the corner of her mouth, he stared back at her swallowing grey eyes. They waited.

And Jaime was done waiting. "Yes." One word, a simple, quiet word and Jaime pulled her lips to his. She was hesitant at first, almost pulling away as if clouded by a thought but Jaime pressed forward, ignoring her pause with a wild abandon that had to reason for forgiveness. His desire grew stronger and she relented, kissing and tasting back as she too gave way to—

"Psst!" The sound rang through the small beach and forced apart their lips. Jaime glanced once at Arya—she looked shaken now, eyes wide from what he could not say—before narrowing in on the far corner of the shore.

"Show yourself," he warned, sliding out his sword with a rush of steel.

From the shadows a tall figure stepped forward and lowered its hood with a flashing grin. "I hate to interrupt, my friend, but I believe we have business to attend to."

"Option three it is," Arya whispered from behind Jaime's back.

* * *

 _Who could it be? Let me know in the reviews and thanks as always for reading!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"Ah, and who might this be? Jaime, won't you introduce me to your…friend?"

She watched in amusement as Jaime ground his teeth, obviously seething, but nevertheless waved his hand from one to the other. "Arya, this is Daario Naharis, the—"

"Brave warrior, loyal companion to our great queen," he said, his voice low and charming. _And just a hint of mockery to make it interesting._ "What a pleasure it is to meet you, Lady Stark." Daario brushed past Jaime to pick up Arya's hand, touching it lightly to his lips with a smile. The man was certainly not of Westeros, his accent gave hints of something from the East, Myr perhaps.

Arya remained unfazed by the charm, raising an eyebrow while trying to keep down the corners of her mouth. _This_ will _be fun_. "Stark, did you say?" She feigned confusion.

"Even in Tyrosh," _close enough_ , "our wet nurses tell stories of the mysterious northern lands, and the even more mysterious women who live there." Over his shoulder she could see Jaime turn his head, fists clenching. "And of course you are Lady Arya Stark, of Winterfell." Arya acknowledged this with a nod, returning his grin.

"Daario, what the _hell_ are you doing in Volantis?" Jaime interrupted, breaking the Tyroshi's gaze. "Daenerys sent you to treat with the counselors she left in Slaver's Bay, not parade in some chained city whoring and drinking." _This Daario character certainly has Jaime on edge_ … _but perhaps this is my fault, I shouldn't have…_

With a swish of his robes Daario turned around, smacking his lips and pulling a puzzled expression. "Well, my friend, the queen and I thought my many talents would be of use elsewhere. _Here_ , for that matter." Daario winked at Arya over his shoulder. "Perhaps it is you two love birds in need of my assistance."

"We're not—"

"He's not—"

Daario looked between them, smirking. "Then maybe you ought not to travel as husband and wife, or whatever else you call…this." A finger wagged between them, and Arya's cheeks flushed. "If you plan on stealing some dragon eggs from Asshai, I suggest you find a new girl, Jaime. Perhaps you'll pick one up in Volantis, I hear they do incredible things with their tongues…."

 _Dragon eggs?_ Arya knew the queen had sent them to the cursed lands of the far East, but this was certainly news to her. _Why would Daenerys require…_

"How do you know of this?" Jaime demanded, ignoring the jest.

The sellsword turned and plopped down beside her on the crate, snatching a fishcake from an opened sack. "The queen told me about this plan to bring back more dragons once while we were busy fu—"

"We get it, thanks," Jaime snapped, eyes flicking between them.

"Yes, well anyway," he started munching from the dough, "why else would the two of you," he pointed between them with the cake, "wind up together in the greatest city known to man…or is it just known to slave masters?" Daario pretended to ponder this under Arya's amused stare and Jaime's glowering one. _For fucks sake Jaime, calm down_ , she wanted to hiss.

Instead, Arya scooted away the wineskin Daario had been reaching for with her foot. "So you'll help us then?"

"Well…I haven't really thought about it," he jested, pursing his lips as the wine moved away from his grasp. "What's in it for me?"

Jaime crossed his arms, eyes rolling. "Arya, we don't need his help. I know him from court, he—"

"Knows a hell of a lot more about where you're going than the two of you," Daario finished.

"I've been east before—"

"Ah, but have you been to the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, my fearsome wolf? Have the two of you ever fought thieves and rapists and demons?" He paused, frowning as they both started to speak. "Actually, don't answer about the first two. But demons, my friends? I haven't been in Westeros for that long, but the only demons I've seen have been the three dragons in the sky and the one dragon in my—"

"Again, we understand. Now tell us what you want." Arya glanced at the sellsword beside her, waiting.

"For starters, get your watchdog to put away his sword."

Arya whipped her head around, giving the half-drawn blade a knowing look before Jaime shoved it away. "What else?"

Daario smirked at Jaime before returning to her expectant gaze. "You."

She swallowed. _The second time I've heard that damn word today._ "What—what do you mean?" Arya didn't dare to look at Jaime, keeping her eyes focused on Daario's robed chest.

"Well, it didn't haveto be _you_ , specifically. One of the many thing our gracious queen has requested is that I find myself a lady wife on this trip. For whatever reason the Khaleesi no longer desires my charming company." Daario mockingly let out a long, hopeless sigh. The hot breath tickled her neck, making the hair stand up. "And who better than you, the ferocious daughter of winter?" His eyes flashed. "I met your older sister once, you know. A dainty little thing, but I never really desired a pet bird…did you know she married Jaime's brother? I quite like that clever little man, but how he's managed to fuck such a blushing young maiden.."

"Shut up about my sister," Arya said coldly. _Talk about fucking anyone else, but not my sister_. "…Fine, I'll do it." _Not like it will even matter once I get back, no one wants to bed the girl that killed their queen_.

"What? No you won't!" Jaime shot back, glaring more at her than even the smirking suitor.

"Jaime," she sighed, "we're never going to make it to Asshai without his help. I _have_ to do this."

Jaime's hand came at her, jerking Arya off the crate by the arm. He pulled her behind him and over to the beach's far corner, to Daario's amusement based on the look he gave when she looked back.

"Let go of me—"

The hand tightened, shaking her. "Why would you agree to this? Does helping the queen really matter that much to you?" Anger seeped from his tongue, but something else as well. Something more primal, more dangerous.

"I…it's hard to explain, Jaime. Remember when you said that I should trust you? Well now it's _your_ turn to trust _me_."

He released her arm, staring at his hand. "Arya," he whispered in a grated voice. "You're the one who said I should _care."_ His fingers reached down, brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek. Jaime seemed transfixed by the lock, rubbing it between his fingers and staring at anything, anything but her eyes.

"I never told you to care about me." Arya let out a shaky breath, gently prying his fingers away. "I'm sorry." She looked up once more, but his eyes flickered away. Sighing, Arya turned around and walked back to the crate. Footsteps crunched along the sand behind.

"I'll do it. I'll wed you once—no, if—we make it back with the eggs. Both of us."

Daario beamed, rising and dusting sand and crumbs from his robes. Arya though she saw a flash of pity directed over her shoulder before his eyes returned to her own. "Excellent. Now if you both will follow me," he said cheerfully, pulling up his hood with a flourish, "I hear it's quite a journey."

* * *

 _Thank you so much for reading today's chapter! School just ended so I should be able to update a bit more frequently (hopefully). Let me know what you think of Daario's character (I know, there was a lot of dialogue but I find him so damn intriguing) in the reviews!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Com'on, girl. Let's hear that pretty voice of yours!" The other sellswords hooted and hollered in agreement. Jaime just rolled his eyes and edged his horse on, trotting to the front of their small party.

After Daario had led their escape though the city sewer system, the sellsword had introduced his small, rather ragtag group of fifteen men meant to accompany them along the demon road—supposedly these men had served under Daario in the past when he had led the formidable Stormcrows. _Now their company is nothing more than a band of drunkards with some pretty steel_. They had been traveling along the road for about a week, and it hadn't escaped Jaime's notice how the men had been quite taken with Arya—and she with them for that matter. The sellswords and their leader seemed to respect a woman wearing steel far more than any Westerosi would—not that that stopped the men from behaving like men.

"I'm not a bird, I don't sing on command," Jaime heard Arya tease back.

"Just one song, girl! We don't ride through the damned desert for nothing!" Noros the Nice (a self-inflicted name, Jaime had learnt) begged. Jaime let his horse's gate slow to match the others, falling into step beside Daario with Arya and the rest behind them. He sneaked a look over his shoulder at the girl, who sighed before turning her gaze to the boundless blue sky.

Arya began humming a light, airy melody before beginning.

"They say you only drown in sea

Not in the endless sky

But storms can brew no matter where

They care not how you fly

Some waves are made of salty swords

While others flash in view

The sky will crush you just the same

This sea of different blue"

The song ended in a whisper, and none dared to interrupt the quiet suspended over the company. It was as if every man looked up at the sky at once, and the nature of their mission, of their sacrifices to take this journey hung wide and open before them all just like the sky.

After several heartbeats the silence grew weaker and the sounds of the desert and the horses and the men crawled timidly back. It was Daario who broke it, though. "You have a gift, my dear. What is that song called?"

Arya shrugged, self-consciously playing with her mare's mane. "Drowning in Air, I heard it in Dorne once. Some maid was singing in the Water Gardens."

Turning around on his horse, Jaime starred in surprised. "I thought you never returned to Westeros." He didn't mean for it to come out accusatory, but judging from the girl's expression, she took it as so.

"Jaime you know barely anything about my life," she spat, earning Jaime a knowing look from Daario. "I've been places, seen things, _done_ things that you could only imagine."

Daario chuckled, steering his chestnut Palfrey to ride alongside Arya. "Tell me, wife, of these grand adventures. Perhaps I will share a few of my own."

" _Wife_ ," Jaime muttered under his breath, but only his own horse snorted in response. _She threatened me with a knife when I called her that, and I wasn't even being serious_. When he glanced back over Arya's gaze flickered to his own before edging her mare closer to Daario. _And now she mocks me_ , he huffed, squeezing his horse's sides till he again rode at the front.

On and on their party rode until dusk began to settle on the dry desert below, casting long shadows from the Painted Mountains to their left that stretched out across the flat plains. _The Demon Road has no demons_ , Jaime mused. _At least none that we have come across_. Only the occasional weary tree or shriveled tumbleweed had popped up along the road—Daario claimed that only fools and heroes traveled this cursed path, and Jaime had yet to decide which of the two they were.

"We should make camp," Jaime called out, halting his horse. The others stopped as well but looked expectantly at their leader instead. Arya still remained by Daario's side, but her illuminated face remained gazing straight ahead, the moonlight reflecting off her set jaw. _At least she still looks at me_.

"Ser Jaime is right, we can set up the tents over there," he declared, jerking his chin at the thinly wooded area to their left. "There's no use riding through the night, and I doubt we'll come across a tavern full of willing wenches to warm our beds."

"I take 'em willing or not!" Noros the Nice shouted back.

"And that, my friend," Daario began with a grin, "is why I have completely given up on understanding your name." The men hooted back, laughing and slapping their thighs as they dismounted.

After handing off his horse to one of the men, Jaime walked over to where Arya sat, still atop her pale mare. "Here, I'll help—" he started, reaching for her waist.

"Seriously Jaime?" she snapped, sliding a leg over the mare's neck and hopping down. He watched as she stomped away, dust clouding the cooling air where her feet touched down.

One of the sellswords approached from his right, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "You Westerosi knights are funny, trying to gallantly save your pretty maids. Too bad she ain't one." Jaime turned to look at the man, a short, heavily muscled Tyroshi with two long scars crossing at his nose.

"Oh shut up," Jaime replied, exasperated. The man muttered something Low Valyrian, something rude no doubt.

By the time Jaime untacked his horse most of the tents had been raised, their beige canvas flapping lazily in the cool breeze. To his right the Summer Sea winked cheerfully, the rolling waves casting off an invitingly salty scent into the otherwise dry air. Squinting, Jaime made out two figures walking along the shore, their shadows thin against the milky sand. His feet carried him away from the dusty camp and across the cobbled road, sinking into the shore as he strode towards the figures. They stood side by side, looking out over the quiet sea. One of them turned, hearing as Jaime approached.

"Ser Jaime, do you care to join us?" Daario sang out, his good-natured tone jarring against the hushed sea. Arya looked up from his side, and an almost guilty expression flashed across before growing hard and cold.

Jaime ignored the sellsword, fuming as he came to a halt before the pair. "Arya, get back to the camp," he commanded in a low voice.

"Seven hells, Jaime. We were just fucking talking," she hissed, crossing her arms.

"Back. Now."

The girl narrowed her eyes, nearly ash grey in the pale light. "You can't tell me what to do," she answered, fingering the sword secured at her hip. Daario's smile remained plastered to his mouth, but his eyes were steadily growing wary.

Jaime smirked, matching her pose. "Perhaps the wolf-girl needs a lesson on swordplay. You want to act like a knight? Fine, slid out that dagger you hide beneath your bodice and we'll fight like real men. With swords," he drew his blade, holding it so the tip stood steady in the air before her chest. "This is what you always wanted, right? To play at sword fight like the little girl you are?" Anger seeped from Jaime's heart and into his veins— _This is who I am, a warrior who likes to fight. I'm done playing the gallant knight for a girl who refuses to be saved._

"Lower your sword," Daario ordered in a hushed, calming voice. "You swore to protect Lady Stark." Jaime's eyes darted over to the sellsword, taking in the hand on his hilt.

"And now she has you instead. Tell me, Daario. What is it like to fuck your way into the bed of both a dragon and a wolf?"

Daario swallowed but not make to draw his blade. "I have not touched her," he said, eyes shifting nervously to Arya.

"Jaime what are you talking about?" she demanded, taking a step back from Jaime's lofted blade.

He rolled his eyes, readjusting his grip. "Don't tell me that—"

From behind a strange, steam-like hiss sang out across the silent landscape.

…

 _BOOM!_

And then a scream, a shrill, paralyzing scream that could only be birthed by the deadliest of fears.

" _FIRE_!"

* * *

 _What a fun chapter, and yet another cliffhanger! I suppose there are demons here after all! And just so you guys know; all of the songs/poetry I have in my story is my own, so let me know if you want to see more of it. Thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts on this chapter._


	16. Chapter 16

_Just a heads up: this chapter contains some violence but nothing even close to what the ASoIaF books might have. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

The three of them turned in unison. "Jaime?" she whispered. "Daario?" No response. "What. Is. That?"

Flames licked up their canvas tents, smoke and screams choking the air as the men ran and burned. A creature—nay, a monster—stood up on its molted and scaled hind legs and sucked in the crackling air with hiss.

…

 _BOOM!_

A massive sphere of pure heat erupted from its mouth, engulfing one of the men in whirling mix of limbs and flames and screams.

"I…they are extinct. Were extinct," Daario said quietly. " _Valyrian Bastards_ some would name them. It is said that during the Doom something happened to the dragon eggs remaining there. The force that destroyed Valyria changed those dragons into demons—part human, part beast."

"And you know how to kill them," Jaime hissed, sword forgotten in his hand. From across the road the chaos continued—both men and tents alike screaming in the fire and smoke.

"Well…no. Not exactly…"

Both men stood frozen in the sand, glaring at each other. "Fuck both of you," Arya muttered, drawing her sword. Before either could grab her Arya began sprinting towards the camp, unsure but also unafraid. _I've dealt with worse_ , she told herself as ash stung at her eyes.

As she stumbled into the mess a hand grabbed at her ankle. Arya began to yank herself free when she saw the face—the blackened, bleeding face of Noros the Nice. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, crouching down. When Arya looked at his body her stomach churned, but she did not break her gaze. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, cupping his chin. Noros opened his mouth but no words came out. Bending low, Arya gently kissed his cracked lips. "This is what you wanted, yes?" she whispered before softly placing two fingers on his eyelids, drawing them shut. The sellsword let out a shaky breath and Arya climbed to her feet. _There's the bastard_.

"Hey ugly!" Arya called out. The monster snapped its jaws shut, turning away from its burning prey. Arya stood completely still as it narrowed its hooded eyes, letting out a strangled cry from deep within its throat. It began to move towards her, dropping down from its thick hind legs and onto its belly, slithering over burning canvas and men alike.

" _Kill the girl_ ," the bastard hissed in an almost human-like voice, baring its teeth as Arya danced back. " _Burn, little girl."_

"You want me?" she taunted, slipping a hand into her bodice. "Come get me!" Arya's fingers closed around the cold steel. The bastard hissed again, this time smoke flaring from its nostrils as it edged closer and closer on its belly.

"Stick 'em with the pointy end," she muttered, closing her eyes. _Now_.

Arya opened her eyes and watched as the dagger whizzed through the air. The tip pierced through the beast's bulbous eyeball, eliciting a low, guttural cry as it withered backwards in pain. Without pausing Arya leapt forward, drawing her sword midair before landing firmly on its back. The bastard trembled and shook under her weight, screeching as it tried to shake both the girl and the dagger from its body.

" _BURN—"_ it rasped, shuddering violently as Arya plunged her blade into its unarmored neck.

"That's for killing my friend," she spat, wrenching out her blade.

"Arya!" a voice screamed from behind. Her head snapped around to see Jaime, his eyes paralyzed in fear. "Behind you!"

From the corner of her eye she saw it coming at her—too late she ducked out of the way, talons scraping and tearing as she dove. Scrabbling for sword, Arya rolled over onto her back, white-hot pain searing as her fingers wrapped around the smooth hilt. The bastard's scaly tail whipped towards her and Arya saw her chance. A terrible screech resounded off the mountains to the left and rushed out towards to open sea. Using her sword, embedded in the beast's tail, as leverage Arya launched herself up, yanking out her blade in the process. _Black blood_ , she noted before the bastard slowly turned its yellow, weeping eyes towards her. Smoke tendrils flared from its wide nostrils as it bared pointed teeth, sucking in the gritty air.

 _One, two_. Arya's heart beat. _Three, four_. She closed her eyes. The hissing stopped.

 _One, two. Three, four._

 _Why am I not dead?_

Cracking open one eye, Arya saw that the beast had frozen before her, mouth agape but no flames poured out. She opened the other eye, squinting through the smoke. A slash of silver adorned the bastard's smooth belly, and from it pooled the same inky blood that covered her own blade. _I bleed as well,_ she noted, for it was not only the demon's blood staining the sand beneath her feet.

 _One, two. Three, four_.

Arya closed her eyes and welcomed the darkness.

…

…

 _One, two. Three, four_.

* * *

 _I really hope you enjoyed this short chapter, I really enjoyed writing it! Let me know what you think of these Valyrian Bastards I invented and don't forget to review, I love hearing your thoughts on this story. Thanks for reading!_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Something cool trickled down her back, eliciting a low moan as the liquid both stung and soothed. Arya smacked her dry lips, starting to roll over onto her side when a firm hand planted itself on her waist. "Don't move," a voice commanded, fingers lingering on her bare skin.

 _Jaime_ … _he's alive_. "Tell me what happened," she demanded, trying to look around despite her limited sight. She was face down and covered only from the waist on, lying on a low bed that smelled suspiciously like animal hide. When he didn't respond Arya tried again to pull herself up, wincing.

From above Jaime let out an annoyed sigh, pulling up the fabric before it could slip down with one hand and pressing the gold one between her shoulder blades. "I told you not to move, do you want to rip your stitches?" As she relented with a weak huff, Arya heard the soft squish of the sponge before the coolness again spread over her raw back. "What do you remember?"

Arya closed her eyes, but only flames swam before them. "The camp was attacked by fucking _lizards_ , I know that."

Jaime chuckled, gently wiping at her lower back. "You killed one of the fucking lizards if I recall," he teased. "But I still had to save the pretty damsel in distress."

She tried to smack him, but her palm only met the air before falling limply to her side. "Oh shut up," Arya sneered, wincing at the movement. "If I remember correctly it was _me_ that rushed in to save the day first, while you two trembled like green boys back on the beach…What of the other men and horses? Of Daario?"

"Two of the horses managed to flee the flames. But the men…I'm sorry, Arya. It was too late to save them."

Arya swallowed, her throat thick and dry. "And Daario?"

The darkness almost seeped from above when Jaime responded. "He's alive, a little bruised, but alive. He's outside with the horses."

His hand lifted from her back, and Arya took the chance to roll over onto one shoulder, peering up to where he stood. Jaime averted his eyes, focusing on the sponge he squeezed, almost pulse-like, in his fist. "Are you still angry with me?" she asked softly. No reply. "I never fucked him," Arya breathed out, willing back his gaze.

Jaime's emerald eyes flicked forward, lingering on her exposed chest for a second before returning to his hand. "I know…"

Arya eased herself up till she sat back on her heels, not caring as the thin sheet fell away. "Then why do you look away?"

"When the beast fell from my sword I ran up to you, oblivious to the men burning and the horses screaming. And when I saw you like that, lying in a pool of black and red blood—" he choked out, "all I could think of was how it felt to lose you." Jaime sucked in a shaky breath—the kind of breath that pricks your tongue and whispers of a cracking heart. _Only hearts on the verge of collapse breathe out their secrets._

 _I told him to care and so he does…and I was selfish._ "But I wanted to care too," Arya whispered to herself, staring at her hands. She looked up, matted curls tumbling over her grimy shoulders. "Hold me."

His head snapped up in surprise, the mangled sponge falling from his hand. "You're hurt," he whispered.

Arya shook her head. "Hold me," she repeated, more firmly this time as she lied back down on the makeshift bed, twitching only slightly as she settled onto her side.

Silently Jaime tugged off his tunic and sank down in front of her, his broad chest blocking her view as he shifted closer. Wrapping his right arm around her lightly clothed hips, careful to avoid the stitched up wounds, he pulled her closer till Arya felt only his warm skin pressed against her bare breasts. _Sweat and salt_ , Arya noted, breathing in his scent. His fingertips trailed lightly, absently, across her side. "You didn't lose me," she whispered.

Peering up, Arya saw as he closed his eyes, sand-covered lashes falling gently across his tanned skin. "Sing me a song," he mumbled in a hoarse voice. "You have such a pretty voice for lizard slayer." Jaime's ribs rumbled against her own, his arm tightening around her hips.

Arya slowly raised her palm to his chest, learning and feeling before she began. _He thinks to know me through my songs, and I shall learn him as well_.

"I've lived my life beneath the sea,

I've known no stars nor sun.

And deep below no eyes watch me,

my home is shared by none.

In truth, I've found great allure here,

my sky is midnight glass.

My music comes from sailors' fear,

their songs sink as they pass.

One day I thought to rise above,

to see what wandered there.

What could eclipse the sea I love?

Too late—I'd kissed the air.

But all around a battle raged,

alive with wind and salt.

A war between the azure waves,

a beauty with no fault.

A realization came to me,

as foamy swords rained down.

Above the water all was free,

beneath the sea I'd drowned."

Her palm fell away from his chest as the last word fell from her tongue.

"Arya…I will not let you drown," Jaime breathed into her hair. "I will not lose you to any man or demon that thinks to pull you back under. I will not."

 _He fears the sea when he does not understand what lives there_. I _live there, and what choice do I have? The sea welcomed me when the North turned its back. I am alive not because of who I was as a girl, but because of who I became._ A tear rolled down where their skin met—one side pale, the other tan—but Arya could not say whose cheek it fell from. _That's the funny thing about tears…they all look the same in the end. Salt cares not whose heart is cracked._

"Ok," she lied and her heart cracked because of it. _Tears can drown both our hearts now._

Jaime softly pressed his lips against her forehead. "Ok."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading and please let me know your thoughts on this chapter!_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The only hint that night had fallen was the breeze—a cold, stinging breeze—that whispered and tumbled through the thin tent walls. Jaime looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms, gently rubbing away the goosebumps that began to travel up her bare arms. Loud, crunching footsteps tore away his gaze, the tent's entryway flapping open to acknowledge the darkness beyond.

"Jaime. We need to keep moving," Daario said calmly, stepping inside. _Uninvited, I might add. Not that that's stopped him before_.

Careful as to not disturb her, Jaime slowly shifted till he was propped up on one elbow and meeting the sellsword's eyes. He noticed how Daario quickly appraised the half-naked girl, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Come to whisk away your blushing bride?" Jaime asked gruffly.

"Judging by the girl's…indecency I'd guess you already know her answer. She may have agreed to marry me but I am not so easily fooled, Ser Jaime. I am under no false pretenses concerning her commitment, as she is under none concerning mine. The rules regarding the marriage bed have many loopholes, as I am sure you are well aware."

Jaime clenched his jaw. "If you mean to comment on my past—"

"I make no judgments," Daario replied quickly, holding up his palms in appeasement. "At least you do not share your woman with a rather dreadfully boring bear." Daario chuckled, lowering himself onto the ground with his back to the tent wall. "What my queen sees in Ser Jorah I do not know, but who am I to question her choices?"

 _Perhaps not with this woman, but I did once_. _Cersei would tell me of Robert's hairy face between her soft thighs and of the way he growled out another's name during the act._ Jaime's arm clenched protectively around Arya, reflexively.

Seeing this, Daario smirked again from his post. "Fear not, my friend. I will not slip between those pretty thighs uninvited. Although I hear she wears a dagger strapped there—do you know?"

Jaime did not respond, distracting himself with a lock of Arya's knotted hair.

Daario gasped in mock astonishment. "What, the infamous Lion of Lannister forgot how to wield his sword?" He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Better hurry, ser. Even those stoic wolves will not wait forever."

"I'm infamous even in your lands for a reason, sellsword. Don't forget that," Jaime snapped, dropping his voice an octave. Daario simply chuckled in response, earth crunching beneath his boots as he stood up.

"I'm quivering in fear," Daario jested, eyeing the now stirring girl up and down before glancing over his shoulder through the open flap. "We really do need to go, it's too dangerous to stay in one spot for long."

Jaime smoothed a hand over Arya's hair, furrowing his brow as he checked her stitches. _Who knew that those sewing lessons Cersei forced me to attend as a boy would be useful?_ "The wounds are clean, so long as we keep them covered. But I doubt she'll be able to ride."

Daario shook his head, crossing his arms. "I only managed to catch two horses anyway."

After nodding at the sellsword, Jaime gently shook Arya awake by the shoulder. "Arya, wake up," he said firmly as the girl began to groan. He helped her into a sitting position and watched, amused, as she yanked up the sheets upon seeing their company.

"Where are we anyway?" she muttered as Jaime got up to fetch some suitable clothing from his pack. The only things of hers he had found—disregarding anything burned or blackened—after the attack were her silver dagger and thin sword.

"Same as before—the Demon Road in all its glory. Further along though, if the Gods are just," Daario answered, frowning.

"Here," Jaime muttered, tossing her the pile; one of his own linen tunics and some of Daario's leather breeches (the sellsword was leaner and shorter than himself). He watched as the girl winced, hiding her pain as she shrugged on the clothes.

"Here yourself," she teased, tiredly throwing his own discarded tunic at his chest. After the fabric had slid past his eyes he smirked, seeing the hands at her hips. "My blades?' Arya demanded, arching an eyebrow at both Jaime and Daario.

"Prove that you won't drop dead and you'll get back your steel," Daario countered from the corner, smirking as he patted the sword hung from his hip and the dagger in his belt. Arya frowned, trying to pull herself up from the makeshift bed.

" _Fuck_ ," she cursed, a hand flying to her back. Daario started to move towards her but Jaime was closer, gently pulling her up into his arms.

"Don't fight me," he warned, earning a halfhearted smack to the ear. "I don't want to redo those stitches."

Outside it was near midnight, the full moon now at its peak above the quiet sea. "You'll ride with me," Daario called out over his shoulder as he dismantled the tattered tent.

"Yeah right," Arya sneered, making a rather rude gesture at Daario's turned back. Jaime chuckled before seeing the girl's pained expression.

"Sorry," he muttered, stifling a laugh.

The sellsword shrugged on his pack, giving her a coy look. "Arya, we have two horses left. We're not leaving you alone in your condition and Jaime can't steer _and_ hold you with only one hand. You'll ride with me or walk."

Jaime rolled his eyes at Daario's smirk. _The sellsword has a point, I suppose_. "He's right."

"Well fuck both of you," Arya muttered under her breath as Daario swung up onto his horse—a quick little beast by the looks of her—and motioned to Jaime. Grudgingly, he lifted Arya up so Daario could settle her in front of him, one arm wrapped carefully around her waist and another at the reins. Jaime gave his own mare a pat before mounting up, smirking at Arya's defeated expression.

After an hour or so of riding in silence—the dreary and endless scenery didn't exactly lighten the mood—Daario bent down to whisper in Arya's ear, eliciting a rather loud chuckle against the chilling quiet.

"What?" Jaime demanded, steering closer as Arya simply smirked.

"I told her to pray to her gods that we make it through this cursed road alive," Daario said simply, returning his gaze to the path ahead.

Jaime frowned, not understanding.

"And I said the only god I pray to now is Death."

* * *

 _Sorry if this chapter wasn't terribly action-packed, I wanted to get some good Jaime/Daario conversations out. Thanks for reading and please let me know your thoughts on this chapter!_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Lets play a game," Arya suggested, leaning back against the swaying sellsword. To her right Jaime rolled his eyes, urging his mare forward. "We've been on this damn road for a month without a man or beast in sight. I'm bored." _Fuck it if they think I'm being childish, I'm sick of staring at rocks and sand._

"We're not repeating that Braavosi drinking game," Jaime warned.

"Do I want to know?" Daario rumbled from behind, his fingers squeezing suggestively at her waist. "There's something we used to play back in the company…a little rude but I doubt the little lady would mind. Fuck, marry, kill, it's called."

Jaime eyed them, frowning. "I know how it's played."

"I name three people and you have to decide what you'd do," Daario explained, shifting his weight. "Give us some names, Arya."

 _I once had a whole list of names…they would all fall under one category though._ "Why don't you just chose one name and then decide?"

Daario let out an exasperated sigh, his hot breath washing over her neck. "Whatever the lady wants." He steered his mare forward as the path began to curve around a rocky cliff.

Arya smiled smugly, straightening up as much as possible with the sellsword behind her. "Margaery Tyrell."

Chuckling, Jaime slowed his horse to walk beside them. "I doubt any man would disagree on that one." Daario nodded in agreement. "Would you kill the pretty rose?" Jaime directed the question at Arya.

"Don't be so certain," she replied playfully, shooting Jaime a mischievous look.

"Lady Stark I took you for many things, but—"

"Would you two shut up?" Daario hissed from behind, clamping a sweaty hand to her mouth.

Jaime looked as if to smack the sellsword with his golden hand when his mare reared upwards, her eyes rolling back to expose the whites. "Easy," he murmured before following Arya's panicked gaze.

Twenty—nay, thirty—colored and painted horses were thudding straight towards them, their hoof beats deadly silent against the sand they galloped on, racing forwards from beyond the cliff with a great dust cloud erupting from behind. An arm tightened against her waist.

"My dagger," she hissed into Daario's ear. He gave her a silent nod, slipping it down the front of her breeches.

"Stay exactly where you are," Daario commanded in a low voice. "Even when they—"

Screams filled the air but the deafening sound of hoofs on the stone road crashed and swept everything else aside—even her eyes were useless as the dust storm whirled around every man and horse. Faster and faster the riders and horses screamed their terrifying cry until the only thing left was Arya's own heartbeat and the starry darkness of her eyelids.

 _One, two. Three, four._

 _One, two. Three, four._

But just as soon as it began, it stopped.

 _One, two. Three, four._

"Take them!" a thickly accented voice called out, and when Arya cracked open her eyes it was not only sand that greeted them. _I know that face_ , she realized.

Both men made to draw their swords but it was too late—a whip lashed out at Jaime, jerking him from his nervous horse to the ground.

"Stop!" she screamed as one of the men yanked the cord backwards, dragging him across the road to their feet. Arya started to slide down when a firm arm yanked her back, securing her to Daario's chest.

"Give us girl or your friend dies," the man—presumably their leader—cried out as the others screamed in agreement.

Arya looked up at the sellsword, taking in his eyes before rough hands yanked her from the horse and forced her to walk up to the line of wildly pained horses. As the leader jumped to the ground she glanced over to Jaime, helplessly trying to hold back the cord from his neck. The clattering of steel drew her attention behind—Daario had dismounted and dropped down his blade.

A sharp blow to the back sent Arya tumbling to her knees as another ripped open the back of her tunic with his curved blade.

"You look at me." A calloused hand grasped her chin, jerking Arya up till only her toes touched the ground as the tattered cloth flapped soundlessly in the wind. His dark eyes roamed freely, hungrily over her body. "Do you know who I am?" he growled, low and proud.

Arya simply smiled.

 _WHACK!_ His hand fell away from her stinging cheek as he dropped her down, and she held the smile despite the coppery taste on her lips. A strangled cry sounded from her left but Arya did not look, Instead she stepped closer, licking the blood from her lips as his muscled chest loomed before her, rippling beneath a thin sheen of sweat. When there was but one inch between them, Arya stretched up to place one hand on his neck, pulling his ear closer. "Is that how you treat the girl who won you your khalasar?" Arya drew him closer still, her weeping lips barely brushing against his earlobe.

"Do you know who _I_ am?"

* * *

 _Exciting! Any guesses for what's to come?_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

As the horselord led Arya away the cord snapped off with a flick. Gasping and choking Jaime crawled to his feet, rubbing his neck. He watched both in awe and fear as the Dothraki leader lifted the girl onto one of the horses, the men following as they rode towards some sort of camp in the distance. Only one man stayed behind, a guard mayhap, spitting from atop his mount with his curved blade slung low across his back.

"What—what are they doing with her?" Jaime choked out as Daario approached from behind.

The sellsword merely shrugged and picked up his dropped sword, always keeping one eye on the Dothraki guard. "I do not know, but if they wanted to harm her she'd be dead by now. The Dothraki do not play the games of Westerosi knights…and that was Khal Izzo, known as He who Poisons in the Common Tongue."

Jaime stared at him, mouth agape. "What does some Dothraki horselord have to do with Arya?"

Daario grinned, sheathing his blade. "Has the girl told you _nothing_ of her past? She's quite intriguing, if you ask me. There was plenty of time to chat while she rode in my arms for a month." Walking up to the guard, he said something calmly in Dothraki, earning a curt nod before the man turned his horse towards the camp. "He says we can follow now."

"Wait," Jaime hissed, grabbing his arm. "Tell me."

Daario seemed to judge him silently, a smirk plastered to his unshaven face. "When she was fifteen she was sent to Vaes Dothrak, by whom I do not know. At the time there was a war going on between two of the most powerful warlords, Khal Izzo and Khal Pono. She was supposed to kill Khal Pono as the two khalasars met in the sacred city, but one cannot draw blood inside those walls. So Khal Izzo offered this beautiful Westerosi girl as a bed slave to his enemy, knowing that she carried a vial of tears of Lys beneath her pretty silks. I'm sure you can imagine the rest."

"Why—why would she tell you this?" _While she tells me nothing._

A hand clapped firmly to Jaime's shoulder. "Perhaps, good ser, you expect too much and understand too little. You want to hold and protect this pretty winter rose that she has not been for a very long time." With a grin Daario turned on his heel, dust kicking up beneath his boots as he began to follow the Dothraki guard through the sand.

It was near midnight when Arya finally emerged from the Khal's great tent; windswept and flushed as if the stars and the sky and the flames that the khalasar bathed in had seeped into her too. She came forth dressed in the same strange fashion as the women Jaime saw around him—clothed in a tightly woven hemp bodice and a curve-hugging leather skirt, split down the middle to reveal soft breeches made for riding. But it was not just the clothes or the hair—braided by her crown yet tumbling down her back—that made her look different. It was her face, her glowing, beautiful face that sang silent songs of freedom into the cool air.

"How's your neck?" she asked simply, plopping down between them. Daario and Jaime sat by themselves around a small cooking fire on the outskirts of the camp, watching as the occasional child would creep up to them curiously before darting away, laughing.

Jaime rubbed the spot where the whip had dug in, grimacing. "Sore," he said through his teeth. "You couldn't have told the horse bastard sooner?"

She frowned, eyes darkening despite the glowing embers. "You're both alive, aren't you? I," she started, popping a bit of horsemeat into her mouth, "think you should thank me."

Both of them stared at her in shared amusement. "And why is that?" Daario drawled, smirking as he ran a hand through his hair.

Arya laughed, placing a hand on both of their outstretched legs. When Jaime looked down he noticed the brass rings now adorning her fingers. _Gifts from the horselord, no doubt_. "Because I," she paused, sucking in a dramatic breath as her grip tightened, "got us a ship to Asshai." The air flew out from her chest, causing the nearest embers to spark and then fizzle out beneath her breath.

He chuckled, sliding off her hand with his own golden one. "You're not serious. Even a Lannister knows that the Dothraki fear the sea."

"And others fear the Dothraki just as much as the horselords fear the sea. Khal Izzo has a certain…agreement with a certain Qartheen trader. Although the city of Qarth is in no danger of the Dothraki's wrath, they _do_ expect for their traders and merchants to come back alive—hopefully stuffed with gems and spices and gold instead of their own tongues. Sallero Sanios this trader is called, and with a little help from the Khal…we will be on our way to Asshai by the end of the week."

"Do we want to know how you got him to agree to this? I doubt it's only because you helped him out four years ago," Daario said, chuckling.

Using Jaime's shoulder to press off of, Arya climbed to her feet with a smirk. "No, probably not. They said that you two can sleep here for the night, they'll send over some furs and…whatever else you might require. I'll see you in the morning, boys." With a wicked grin she was off, her loose curls swinging as she strolled back into the main camp.

After a moment Daario let out a low whistle. "She certainly knows what she's doing."

"I know," Jaime said quietly, flicking his uneaten horsemeat into the dying fire. "She certainly does."

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed this exciting turn of events and please don't forget to review! It really inspires me to keep writing this story each time I see your lovely comments and suggestions!_


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"You are always welcome in my khalasar," Khal Izzo rumbled in Dothraki as Arya handed back her horse.

She winked and then laughed at his amusement—a rare sight on the face of a great Khal. "I will not forget." After giving her mare one last pat she turned to catch up with Jaime and Daario, waiting by the ship. A gold-plated name adorned it's side, the scripture swirling against the sturdy boards. _The Spiced Maiden_.

"Have you met the capt—" Arya started, shielding her eyes against the high-noon glare.

"No," Daario said quickly, cutting her off with a grimace. "But I know of his reputation. He allows us passage solely as to not anger the Khal, but do not think that we will be safe on this voyage, my lady. The less he knows of us the better." With that the sellsword turned his back and began the climb up the lowered hemp ladder.

Jaime smirked, gesturing to the swinging rope. "After you, Lady Stark," he teased, bowing low.

Rolling her eyes, Arya walked over to the looming wooden wall. _Fuck_. "Very funny!" she yelled up to whomever manned the ladder. _I can't even reach the fucking—_

An arm wrapped tightly around her waist. "Here," Jaime murmured from behind, his fingers barely brushing the strip of skin exposed as her top rode up. "Let me help."

Arya turned her head slightly to find Jaime's emerald, almost sea-green, eyes gazing back at her. _Help_. She tasted the word silently on her tongue, knowing that the word fell from his lips with so much more weight than it should. But she accepted in anyways, knowingly and unapologetically. "Ok," Arya breathed out, facing forwards as he lifted her up easily until her fingers grasped the first rung.

The deck was large—so large for a merchant's ship that it almost called into question the nature of its cargo. _The captain sails something big enough to be a warship…and yet they claim he sells spices_. "Hey Jaime," Arya called over her shoulder as the knight climbed aboard. "Can you make sure our cabins are ready?"

Jaime grinned, wiping his sweaty palms against his breeches. "What—you don't want to play the swooning new lady wife again? Mayhap the sellsword wants turn as well." He pulled a face of mock terror at her expression before it broke into a smirk.

Smiling despite herself, Arya shook her head as she ran her hand along the smooth rail. _Now that my watchdog is gone, we shall see what this pretty ship hides beneath her pretty name._ As Arya made her way between the aisles of crates and caskets, receiving only a few curious looks and the odd leer, something began to don on her. She brushed her fingertips against a dark crate, leaning in till her nose barely touched its rough surface. _Since when does a spice ship smell like—_

Cold, bony fingers snapped around her wrist, yanking Arya to the ground and dragging her behind a towering pile before she could so much as draw her blade.

"Hey!" she hissed, rolling onto her back. An grizzled old man, sporting nothing but a few tuffs of powdery hair and some tattered rags, crouched before her.

"A girl will be quiet," the man said, placing one knobbed finger against her lips.

"And what makes you think—"

 _WHACK!_ His hand flew at her face with a surprising amount of strength. "A girl will be quiet," he repeated calmly.

Arya growled but nodded in compliance, searching his face while she chewed at her cheek. There was something off about the man's eyes—clear when they should have been hidden in the fog that plagued the elderly. _An old man's face with a young man's eyes._ Tentatively Arya stretched up her fingers until they met his flaky hairline, closing her eyes as she felt it and _tugged_.

The mask peeled away with a sickening snap before bursting into a fine powder than ran through her fingers and washed past her eyes. "Jaqen."

He nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling in something that could have been a smile. "A girl does not forget her duties, no?" Jaqen lowered himself to the deck to match Arya's cross-legged position, leaning against a crate.

"I have not forgotten," Arya whispered to her hands, focusing on the thick callous that had formed under her left thumb.

"Tell me."

Now she looked up at his silver eyes. "I will do as the dragon queen asks and then The Many Faced God will take her and some dragon king."

"No."

"I will do as the dragon queen asks and then _I_ will take her and some dragon king."

Jaqen nodded. "Does a girl remember why?"

"Another steals from The God, only the lives of two dragons can repay him." Arya swallowed before parting her dry lips. "Why are you here? Back in Braavos—"

"In Braavos this thief has found Jaqen H'ghar."

"Tell me why," she whispered, closing her fingers around the smooth callous. _My sword left behind armor_. _A small amount, but steel of my own._

"Why does a girl think?" Jaqen countered, raising an eyebrow.

Words fumbled on Arya's tongue before escaping. "You know more about the thief. You know who he is," she guessed. Another nod. "Tell me whose sins I will be paying for."

"Jaqen H'ghar will not speak his name, a girl will not know his name. It does not matter so long as she does her duties."

"Then _why_ are you here?" Arya demanded to his stoic face. _Games_ , she wanted to spit. _All he does is play in games and riddles._ When he made no move to answer Arya reached up and kissed his cheek with her palm. It was no gentle kiss.

A smile teased at his lips and danced in his eyes. "The Many Faced God has whispered more secrets to Jaqen H'ghar. He told him that a girl may fail in her duties."

"I will not," she spat. "Tell the God—"

"And if a girl fails she will repay him another way," Jaqen cut her off, raising a finger to the fading red of his cheek. "If a girl fails she will give herself to The Many Faced God."

Her mouth snapped shut. _Myself…I never fail in my duties to The God._ "But…I have no dragon blood. Why would I be enough to repay him?" Arya looked again at her hand.

"A girl that takes many lives for her _duty_ weighs the same as the dragons that take many lives for themselves, for it is the _duty_ of dragons to do so. A girl will not forget this when it is time."

Arya tore her gaze away from her hand with a question on her lips—and that question would remain there. The air where he had been seemed to shiver and whisper with an unexplainable… _It is the dust and the light_ , Arya told herself. _There is just dust and light and a girl. That is who I am…just a girl_.

And a tear rolled down a girl's cheek at the realization.

* * *

 _Wow—that's a game changer! Please let me know how you liked this chapter, for every review inspires me more and more to keep writing! If you want to make it to the end (trust me, you do) then please let me know your thoughts! Also I posted a poll about the story on my profile (it's being finicky though) so here's a link:_  
/u/6797542/ (copy and paste this after the normal fanfiction url if that makes sense)

 _Thank you so much for reading!_


	22. Chapter 22

_There's some Mish rated content in this chapter…just a heads up (it is the rating though, I'm guessing you've been waiting for it!)._

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

The cabin door slammed shut just as the ship lurched forward, sending Jaime's unattached hand flying before he could strap it back on.

"Sorry," Arya's voice mumbled as Jaime bent down to retrieve his fallen hand. "I didn't mean to—"

"If you're upset that we couldn't get three rooms then I suggest you complain to somebody else," Jaime snapped, turning as he buckled the straps. "I told them…" The words trailed off as he took in the way she bit her lip, the way she wrung her hands. "What's wrong?" he asked, closing the distance between them as he gazed down at her lashes.

The girl only shook her head, gripping the door handle with white fingers. "Nothing. Never mind. I shouldn't have…" Without so much as a glance up, Arya began to pull the door open behind her.

"Look at me," he said, reaching above her shoulder and shutting the door with his golden hand.

"Let me go," Arya protested, trying in vain to push him away.

Jaime stepped closer, their bodies almost touching as he ignored her objection and brushed a finger over her cheek. "Who did this to you?" Jaime asked as he trailed a finger down her colored skin. _Raw and red._

Still she did not look, but her hands fell imply to her sides. In defeat or shame he did not know. "Who did this to you?" he repeated, brushing his knuckles over her jawline till they reached the pale skin of the other cheek. Arya's silvery eyes grazed over his touch before meeting his own.

Her answer was really no answer. But it was enough.

Jaime's fingers curled around her chin and drew it forward—drew her lips forward until they met and crushed and danced beneath his own, hungrily and without remorse. A hand wrapped around Jaime's neck and pulled him impossibly closer as she tugged at his bottom lip, a faint moan escaping from her parted lips. His hands—both, for his body cared not to tell one otherwise—slid over her hips and lifted the skirt before fumbling at…

"Arya," he breathed out as she kissed and teased at his neck. "Your breeches—"

She pulled back slightly, smirking before reaching up to his ear. "You first," Arya whispered, her lips brushing dangerously against his skin.

Jaime stepped back and pulled the tunic over his head, eyeing the girl before him. He smirked as Arya's eyes traveled over his chest before flicking lower at his hardened manhood. Jaime unlaced and stepped out of his breeches in response. "Your turn." He had never been ashamed of his body and stood before the girl tall and proud.

Arya cocked an eyebrow but did as she was bid, her eyes never leaving his body until the Dothraki garb lay useless at her bare feet. Jaime's eyes drank in the girl before him—for only his eyes could possibly describe this creature, this beautiful, northern goddess in front of him. Not even his golden twin could have stood beside this girl and remain untouched by her beauty.

The feel of her hands on his chest broke his gaze. Jaime watched as her small hands ran over his skin, leaving a trail of fire that pulsed and reached and stretched over every muscle and bone. And Jaime stood silent as she learned, for his eyes alone were enough to learn her in the shadowed cabin.

"Why now?" he whispered, smoothing his hands down her waist and backing her up until her knees reached the small cot. Jaime lowered Arya down, kissing her lips, her breasts, her thighs before caging her beneath his body.

Arya's own lips stalled at his shoulder. "Why does it matter?" she countered, her breath quickening as his fingers followed the curve of her hip.

He paused above her, cupping her cheek while propping himself up on his right arm. "Because I cannot loose you when it done."

A faint sadness played in her eyes. "I do not care for the future," she whispered, stroking his cheek. "You should not as well."

 _She pretends not to care and I play in her fantasy…perhaps a fantasy is all we have._ With only a pulsing, deafening need Jaime relented to the beautiful girl in his arms. He relented to himself and to her, knowingly and selfishly.

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed this short chapter, I'm guessing it's something a lot of you have been waiting for. Please let me know if you liked it and thanks for reading and reviewing! Cheers!_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

From Valyria to New Ghis, the Summer Sea to the Jade Sea they sailed and sailed and sailed. For how long she did not know, for time flowed easily and unaware just like the ship that carried them. It wasn't the places that gave off the strange air of ease—oh no, every port and pirate they came upon provided the unexpected—it was themselves. Since that very first night Arya had thrown herself into the comfort that Jaime provided so willingly, and she never looked back.

A knock sounded from the cabin door. Arya glanced up to see Daario quietly slip inside with a large chest in his arms. Frowning, she sat up in the narrow cot, carefully removing Jaime's arm from her waist. "What are you doing, Daario? It's not even morning," Arya mumbled, peering up at their slit of a window.

He set the chest down with a thud, wiping his hands. "We're nearly there."

"What the hell are you talking about? We're at least a week away still, maybe longer."

Daario simply shook his head. "I told you once that there is something off about this ship and her captain. Somehow a week became a day overnight whilst you two were here sleeping."

Arya looked down at the still asleep man beside her, gently pushing back the golden curls that crept down onto his forehead. "What's in the chest?" she asked, ignoring his comment. Jaime stirred, catching her fingers with a smirk before sitting up.

"Here to watch us sleep?" Jaime teased with a yawn, his hand playing with the hem of her thin tunic. "I know you have nothing better to do than watch your betrothed share her bed with another man."

The sellsword rolled his eyes, bending down to unlatch the chest. Arya knew that Daario could care less about what she did with Jaime so long as she fulfilled her promise once they returned. _An empty promise, in more ways than one._ "When the ship stopped in Yin I picked up a few things." He glanced up upon seeing her face. "What, did you expect to just slip into Asshai, unnoticed, and steal a few eggs?"

"Well, no. I was hoping to think of a plan once we got there," she said, sliding out of the cot. "That's kind of how these things work."

Daario chuckled. "Not in the Shadow Lands, they don't. The Asshai'i are a dangerous people like nothing you or I have ever encountered. If we all want to live," he started, throwing open the lid, "then we're going to need what's in here."

Arya padded over with Jaime quick to follow and watched as the sellsword began to pull the contents out. He held up a dark silk gown with some kind of attached veil, the fabric spilling like liquid between his fingers. "The Asshai'i do not show their faces. Which comes in handy for us, since no children dwell in their city."

Arya huffed as Daario handed her the gown. "Are you calling me a child, ser?"

"Well," he started, smirking before Arya smacked the back of his head, "no, but you aren't exactly the…oldest woman I've seen."

"Something I've noticed as well," Jaime whispered into her ear, earning a smack of his own.

"And you—either of you—aren't exactly young men yourselves," she scoffed before returning her attention to the chest. "What else did you bring for the _child_ and her old knights?"

Chuckling, Daario pulled out two similar garments, both larger than her own. "For me and the Lannister," he explained, chucking them aside. "Dragonglass daggers, don't ask how I got them," he continued, handing them each one of the dark blades. "And these." Daario pulled out three small vials attached to a silver chains, the empty crystals flashing in the pale light.

"What are those for?"

A grim line appeared on Daario's face as he stood up, pendants in hand. "You must bring with you life to enter the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. A sacrifice."

"You don't mean…" Jaime said, his brows furrowing.

"Aye, I do. The shadowbinders practice blood magic for a reason. There are spirts where we plan on going, spirts and demons from hells beyond the seven you know of. Only blood will pay for our entrance." Daario dropped the pendant into her hand.

Arya glanced at first the vial in her palm and then at Daario. "Whose blood?"

"It is said that king's blood is the strongest, but we don't exactly have any of that laying around." He dropped the second vile into Jaime's outstretched hand. "Many years ago my company came across this woman, a sorceress from Asshai that promised to aide us in the war we fought in. She gave us vials similar to the one you now hold…and told us to find a maiden."

"A maiden?" Jaime asked, his fist clenching around the crystal.

Daario nodded. "The sorceress told us that only the purest of blood would suffice. The blood of someone free of greed and sin and lust. None of us would work—sellswords kill and rob for glory and gold. And so we sent a man out, and he returned with a girl from the city...we won the war shorty after."

"And the girl?" Jaime said. "Did you bastards kill her?"

The sellsword set his jaw, looking away. "I did not want it…but our leader at the time insisted that we do as the sorceress asked. There were five-thousand men in the company and each needed the girl's blood. We were given no choice."

Nobody spoke for a heartbeat. Arya stared at the small vial and then her eyes traveled lower to the blue veins lacing her wrist. When she looked up, both men were staring. "What? You both know I'm no maiden. I've killed men, I've fucked men."

Daario gestured first at himself and then at Jaime. "I am a sellsword, you know it cannot be mine that we use. And Jaime…well, he is the Kingslayer. He broke a sacred oath. It has to be you, Arya. Yes, you've killed but it has been for protection and honor. Out of the three of us, you're the best chance we've got."

 _Honor? They claim my blood has honor and yet I plan on betraying them both. And so I must choose between hoping that this blood magic is false and revealing myself as a traitor._ "I will do it," she whispered. "Hand me a dagger."

* * *

 _We've finally made it to Asshai (well, nearly). Since not that much is written about this place I'll need to come up with a lot of it myself, such as the blood magic I wrote about in this chapter. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter and thanks for reading! The next couple chapters should be exciting, so let me know if you're looking forward to them. Thanks!_


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"And one more thing—" Daario's hushed voice died as the girl gasped, yanking back her fingers from a stack of ink black stones. Every face on the dock whipped around, their cold eyes peaking out from beneath veils and lacquered masks. "Don't touch the stone."

Their ship had left in haste, dropping them off on the narrow dock protruding from the looming walls. Now they stood huddled behind a pile of the greasy stones, the same that the great walls surrounding Asshai were made from. Although the dock was filled with people, none spoke and only two did not wear the Asshai'i robes—an grey-bearded merchant and a young girl. As Daario examined Arya's hand, Jaime watched as two men in billowing robes seized the child from behind, ignoring the father's protests and the girl's shrieks. Arya and Daario turned at the screams but did not move. _It is not wise to draw attention to yourself in this cursed place._

"Where are they taking her?" Arya whispered, pulling her veil lower as the men dragged the child further and further towards the wall. It swallowed her screams until the only sounds left outside were her father's sobs and the pounding of black waves.

"I told you that no children live in Asshai. If a girl is found or born here, they give the child to their warlock king."

"And the boys?" Jaime asked.

"You do not want to know." Daario pointed to the dark walls. "Do you see where they took the girl? That must be a gate, maybe the only one."

Jaime followed the sellsword's gaze. "So what, we just walk in? Tell them we're just here to steals some dragon eggs, no big deal." If they had been anywhere else he would have smirked. _But no one smirks in Asshai._

"What if…what if I could get inside?" Jaime turned at Arya's muffled voice and gazed down at her wide grey eyes. She held the silk away from her lips. "If they think I'm a child they'll let me through, and then I'll kill the guards and let you both in. Daario's right, that's probably the only way in from where we are."

"Arya," he started, gripping her wrist. "You can't do that. There's no telling what might happen or how many guards—"

"I'll be fine," she snapped, the exclamation earning a glare from a masked man passing by. Before either of them could stop her, Arya yanked her arm away and darted out from the stone pile.

"Shit," Jaime cursed, starting to run out behind her when an arm jerked him back.

"Let her go," Daario hissed. "If you run after her we'll both get killed. Now let's step out and _calmly_ follow. That's all we can do."

Jaime raised an eyebrow at his tone but complied, gritting his teeth as he stepped away from the pile with Daario behind him. They walked quickly down the dock, seemingly unnoticed by the thinning crowd. Ahead Arya came to an abrupt halt, and as she tore away her veil the very air seemed to freeze around them, slowing his bones and icing over his tongue so that he could not even yell out her name. _Arya_!

When the silk fell away it was if the shadow men already knew, for they grabbed her instantly and without pause. She made no move to get away as one lifted her by the waist, her dark hair tumbling over the back of the man's gaseous, swirling robes.

"Jaime," a voice hissed, snapping Jaime back to the present. "You need to follow them," Daario said, grabbing Jaime's arm.

He shook his head, blinking as Arya was taken further and further away. "Aren't you coming?"

Daario looked about to respond, but his mouth closed in a grim line as he looked away. "Go on without me…there's something I need to check out first."

"We'll wait for you inside," Jaime whispered back, pulling up his mask. With a clap on the shoulder he left the sellsword and headed towards the wall.

She thought that nothing could be more terrible than the wall guarding Asshai. If the ink-black wall sucked in every human breath and light in its presence, then the city swallowed them. Inside there were no real people, for no person could live in a world so devoid of light. No person could spend a life bathed in the unrelenting hunger of darkness. Only shadows walked the cursed streets, their whispers growing louder and louder as Arya was carried inside until they became a deafening roar.

Just as soon as they had entered, she was dropped unceremoniously onto the slick ground below, the side of her face slamming into the cobbled pavement. Spitting, Arya struggled to pull herself up till she sat leaning against a wall. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded, searching in the blackness for their faces. Only eerie silence came from within their hoods. _They don't want to play, do they? Well I do._

Never taking her eyes off the ghostly guards, Arya slipped a hand inside her gown, her fingers closing the dagger's hilt. _Like catching cats_. _Strike quickly and they won't even blink._ Her legs tensed and her heartbeat quickened. _Like a cat—_

"What have you got for me today, boys?" Arya's dagger fell away from her outstretched hand, the glass scraping against the stones below. The guard let out a snake-like hiss, it's nearly white eyes flicking towards her face before turning back towards it's…master. The man—if he even was—approached until he stood no more than a foot before her, a smirk playing on lips so dark a blue that they almost faded into the ebbing blackness of the city. _The lips of a warlock._

"My, my, you _did_ find something interesting. Leave us." He snapped his thin fingers, and the two shadow guards melted back into the darkness. Arya willed herself to look away, but her eyes obeyed no one but the warlock. She was victim to his pale-blue orbs. "Do you know who I am?" His voice slinked through the air, lazily, seductively, and wrapped itself around her neck.

Arya parted her lips, but the words strangled on her tongue. Gasping, she brought a hand to her throat but could do nothing but stand there, choking on nothing as he stepped closer, his sharp features just inches away. He swiped a finger across his own lips, the dark wetness dripping from his pale flesh. "You don't know? Pity." Arya's eyes widened in horror as he dragged the glistening blue finger across her own lips, his touch drawing a line of ice across her mouth. "But you will soon find out."

The last thing Arya remembered was a cold hand caressing her face and a even colder laugh seeping out into the ebbing darkness.

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed this chapter, what do you think is going to happen next? Let me know and thanks for reading!_


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

The gate was unguarded when he approached. No shadow men, no Arya. Just an eerie calmness flowing from the iron gate, its hinges creaking in a way that almost invited him to enter the city. _She must have killed the guards…and is waiting for us inside. She must have._ Jaime stepped inside, jumping as the gate slammed shut just inched from his neck. _A trick of the wind_ , he told himself. _Or a warning._

After emerging from the wall's shadow, Jaime found himself in a deserted square of sorts, a marketplace with shops and signs but nothing else, no one else. Only a wind howled, dancing and tumbling against canvas awnings and the broken remains of a wooden cart. Something crunched beneath his boot.

"Arya's dagger," he whispered, despite being alone in the city. _I would not doubt it if the wind itself had ears._ The hilt lay unbroken, but the glass—the _dragon glass—_ was shattered, useless. Frowning, Jaime pocketed one of the larger shards and straightened up when something flashed in the corner of his eye. Beside one of the abandoned shops an orb of blue light bounced up and down, almost playfully. After glancing around, he approached the strange light—pale blue and flame-like, yet constricted in its shape. Jaime stretched out his fingers, entranced, when the sphere darted further into the dark street.

" _Come play with us_ ," a soft, child-like voice sang out.

Jaime swallowed, but his feet followed the orb. "Arya?" he asked, his voice hoarse and jarring.

The light—or whatever it was—let out a giggle as it traveled down the desolate street. " _She likes to play! Come play with us_." It flitted behind a corner. " _Play with us_."

Further and further the orb led him, past broken houses and stores and taverns, through winding alleys and staircases and passageways, up and down, closer, further, in and around, faster and faster it darted and danced until something hard and wet slammed into his nose with a sickening crunch.

"What the—" Jaime stumbled backwards as spots danced before his eyes. Raising a hand to his face, he felt the warmth dripping down from his nose. " _Fuck_ ," he cursed, wiping the blood on his breeches. Once his vision returned to normal, Jaime assessed the perpetrator. He stood before a door made of weeping, inky stones with a pale white handle, intricately carved into something he could not make out in the darkness. Turning, he saw that the tight space had no entrance or exit, just a crack of a window high up on the opposite wall. Without thinking, Jaime closed his hand around the door handle, surprised at its soft, almost warm, texture, and entered.

The door melted away in his hand, and Jaime stood in a vast hall filled and brimming with deep purple candles that cast shadows into corners of the room that he could not even see. Sheets of ornate velvet soared from somewhere far above to the black marble below and a blood-red carpet flowed from his feet, pooling before a throne of gleaming onyx and the blue-lipped man that sat there. The sight was luxurious and beautiful and terrible.

"Thank you, my sweet. Come here," the man, _or king,_ held out a hand, his black robes billowing at the sleeve. A girl—she couldn't be older than twelve—darted out from Jaime's right. Ice blue hair swayed against she shoulders as she ran, surefooted and light, towards the throne. When she reached him the king smirked and grabbed her wrist, positioning the child so that she stood by his side. Jaime saw no fear on the girl's pale face, only numbness. "Lovely, don't you think so? And _so_ useful. _Want to play?_ " he said, his voice imitating the one Jaime had heard earlier. _The one that I followed here._

"What is this place? Who are you?" Jaime whispered, his voice barely a breath in the immense hall.

"So many questions! But I've already answered _so_ many today." The corner of his wet lips pulled down into a pout. "Perhaps my little pet will tell you," he mused, pushing back the girl's frosted hair from her slender neck. "Go on, tell our guest."

The child spoke in a breathy voice so delicate that Jaime thought it might break. "Behold, King Viyar of Asshai and the Shadow Lands, Warlock of the Far East. My king welcomes you to the Gates of the Shadow." She trembled once and went silent.

"Very, very, good," the king cooed, his eyes glinting as he ran his thumb along her jaw. "Did she explain it to you well? I could have her try again."

Jaime's fingers itched for his sword, but he would not allow himself to be so foolish. Not here, not with Arya missing. He cleared his throat and strode down the crimson carpet in a gait that he hoped to be nonchalant. "She was excellent, your grace," Jaime said, choosing his words carefully. "May I ask—"

"Good, good!" the king cried out, abruptly rising from his chair. A black cape of thick silk pooled from his shoulders as he stood. "Do you know who she is?" he asked, his voice gleeful.

"I, I do not—"

"Well neither do I!" he sat back down, casually crossing his legs with a puzzled expression. "My men found her aboard some slavers ship from Mereen. Such a pretty little girl, I couldn't _help_ but to take pity on the creature. But you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Ser Jaime."

Words could sting, Jaime had found. Anyone with Tywin Lannister as a father knew that/ But sometimes they stabbed and twisted and pulled. And these words were a knife. "What did you do with her?" he hissed.

The king shoved the girl away, snorting as she crumpled to her knees. "When my men said they found a new one I was _so_ pleased. This one's getting boring," he said, using his leather-clad foot to point at the girl's ribs. "And then I realized what a treat I'd been given. You see," he paused, cocking his head, "I am a king with no queen, no heir. I am brought all of these girls but I simply cannot stand them after a while." He snapped his fingers and the girl cried out in pain, withering below his feet. Jaime started to run up to her but his feet would not move—he was trapped, helpless for the first time in his life.

The girl let out a scream that echoed through the hall but the king merely laughed. "I'd invite you to play, _Kingslayer_ , but I fear that you wouldn't have any fun!" He snapped again and hissed in delight—the child clawed and clutched at her chest as the air swirled dark and encompassing around her until her form was swallowed in screams and darkness.

"Stop it, you're killing her!" Jaime cried out, struggling against his invisible bounds.

He sighed and with another snap it was done. No more screams, no more smoke. Just the lifeless, ice-blue girl below the throne. "Well, now that that's taken care of," the king started, clapping his hands. "I'll introduce you to my new queen," he said calmly, a grin erupting on his face. "Oh wait, you already know her!"

From behind his throne she emerged, pale and silver… _and broken_ , Jaime realized.

"Arya, darling. Give your king a kiss."

* * *

 _Eeek ok so I'm kind of nervous to share this chapter since it's a little…out there (in my opinion, anyway). I promise that I won't get too carried away with this plotline though, we still have dragon eggs to find!_

 _And sorry about not posting daily anymore, my job takes a lot more time than I originally thought. Anyway, thanks for reading and thoughts on this chapter in particular are much appreciated!_


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

 _Just do it. Don't look, don't look at_ him _. Do as you're told. You must. You want to._ Eyes downcast, Arya stepped around the throne and sank to her knees. Silver fabric pooled bright and strong against the carpet, and the hem licked at the crimson and reminded her of something—something important that she could not quite place. She pushed the thought away. _Only he matters._ Arya bent forward and touched her lips to the leather boots before her. _He…_ a golden flame flickered in her mind, but as she straightened it was gone. _Only he matters. My king._

A cold finger pushed up her chin. "Good, good," her king purred, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "We have a guest, my pet. Tell him how happy you are."

Gathering her skirts, Arya climbed to her feet and turned to face the throne room. A man in black robes stared back at her. He had a strong jaw and a kind face but his eyes, his eyes were angry and afraid and sad. _Why does he look at me so, when it is so lovely here?_

"It is a great honor to serve my king. I am so happy and want only to please his grace." The words spilled effortlessly, as if she needn't even think them first.

"Arya…what have you done to her?" The strange man demanded. It was her name he spoke but the question was for the king.

A laugh echoed, and Arya could feel his presence behind her he stood. The king chuckled and ran his thumb across her cheek before answering. "Is everyone from your land a fool?" he murmured in her ear before addressing the man. "Your pretty friend has been under my care for a nearly a moon's turn. Trust me, my friend, it did not take long to...break her in, shall we say."

The man stumbled back and his eyes grew wide. "A…a month? No, we arrived today—she was only gone for an hour—"

"You thought it was an hour?" Her king clicked his tongue in disappointment. "My, my, what a pity. It's too bad you missed the wedding, my friend. The bride was so…delightful. I suppose I should send out a map next time!" he jested with a smirk.

Their guest reached beneath the folds of his robes as if to draw a blade when a stream of hissing, swirling light shot across the hall and slammed into the man. "I warned you not to try anything!" The crackling beam snapped back as his body crumbled to the floor. Her king chuckled and pulled Arya's hair away from her shoulder. "Did you enjoy that, my love?" he whispered, the words tickling her exposed neck.

"Of…of course, your grace." The words seared her tongue but she could say no more.

Another chuckle. "I know you did, I know everything about you. Everything you were," his lips brushed her jaw, " and everything you say," they trailed to the corner of her mouth, "and everything you will ever be. I own you, Arya." His blue lips pushed against her own, slick and demanding and hungry. It seemed that her king always had a hunger.

A groan from across the hall caused her king to pause, his tongue slipping from her numb lips. "Do you remember what we do here with unwelcome visitors?" her king whispered, caressing her cheek with a cold hand.

"We give them to the shadows," Arya replied, closing her eyes. She remembered what he had shown her of the lands beyond the Gates of the Shadow. _Only my king keeps us safe from the demons, only he protects us. We sacrifice and they gift him with power._

"I want you to say goodbye to our guest, my love. Take him to one of the chambers and see that he is…comfortable. Remind him what he lost and then take it away." His fingers dug into her cheek, drawing her closer. "Bring him beyond the wall and watch as the shadows feast upon his flesh. You will not look away. A queen never looks away." Her king placed a soft kiss on her cheek and a drop of blue wetness ignited her flesh—burning and searing like poison. "Can you do that for me, love?"

Arya nodded and touched the flames rippling down her face. _Is love supposed to hurt like this?_ She remembered gold, a gold that kissed and danced and did not burn. It seemed so lovely, this memory of gold. But when she pulled back her fingers they were stained a deep blue, and the sun-kissed flame or dream or memory or whatever it was flickered from view.

"Yes, your grace. I want only to please you." _Blue. Only blue, only him. Only my king._

* * *

 _First off, I'm terribly sorry for taking so long, even though it's a short chapter! I can really only write on weekends now_ _. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please leave your thoughts! I'm having some difficulty with the plot now, so I'd really appreciate your feedback. Thanks!_


	27. Chapter 27

_Sorry for taking so long to update, my job eats up all my FF writing time! But I promise that I haven't given up on this story!  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

The first thing he noticed was the dull ache in his chest. Blinking his heavy lids, Jaime saw that he lay atop a fine white bed with a crimson stain blossoming from beneath his right arm—the ripped sleeve revealed a shallow gash.

"Don't move," a small voice said.

Jaime looked up, surprised, as Arya made her way over to his side and sat down on the bed. She did not meet his gaze as she gently tore away at the tattered fabric. "Arya," he pleaded. Jaime thought that he saw something flicker in her downcast eyes, but her fingers continued their work on the wound. "What did that monster do to you?"

Now her fingers stilled, hovering inches above the gash—unable to continue but also unwilling to pull away. "A _king_. He is a king. My king."

Swallowing the thickness that had risen in his throat, Jaime played along despite his anger. "Ok…when they first took you here, what did the king do to you?"

"I…I was put in a room with the other ones." Her voice trailed off and her silver eyes clouded over. "There were so many."

Jaime thought back to the girl—the ice-blue girl—that had led him to this place. The girl the king had slain in front of him. "Children, you mean? Like the girl in the throne room?" He pushed himself up into a sitting position.

She nodded. "Yes, girls. The youngest cried when I came until the older ones made her stop. The girl you met…Daessa…she was one of the oldest. A girl of fifteen. She was the king's favorite until I came along. How jealous they all were of her…" Arya looked up, as if unsure if she should continue. "After a day they took me from that room and then—" She stood abruptly, her hands pulling at her roots in anguish. "No, no, no!" Arya screamed, her eyes widening madly as she stared down at him. "He is my _king! My king!_ " Backing into the stone wall, she shut her mouth shut and slid to the floor. Silent tears began to run down her cheeks.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Jaime approached her with his palms out, not wanting to further frighten her. He sank to his knees before her, the pain in his chest forgotten. "It's ok. You don't have to tell me about it," he said softly, settling on his heels. Hesitantly, Jaime reached out and placed a hand on her knee. _Sometimes it is our touch that must speak first._

After several heartbeats her tear-streaked face lifted, her eyes lingering on his hand before focusing on the stone floor. "Do you know what it is like to have demons in your head?"

The question took him aback, and Jaime blinked in surprise. "I did once. Nothing like yours, I imagine. But demons nonetheless."

"How did you stop them?"

Jaime paused, and the answer came so quickly that he had to stop himself from letting it spill out. _I found you._ "We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with our own. And when we find them…then even the loudest roar can be silenced."

Arya looked up, her silver eyes gleaming with another question—a question that she could not voice aloud, a question that her demons would not paint onto her tongue. And he wanted her back so badly and desperately that he answered her silence. He kissed the smirking girl he had left Westeros with and kissed the girl who had stolen the remains of his heart. He kissed the broken girl; the girl he loved.

* * *

"Jaime," Arya whispered, cupping his cheek with a hand. "I—I remember you." Tears streamed down her face, cold and fresh and willing. "You came back for me."

He pulled her towards him once more and kissed her softly. "Arya…I thought you were gone…I'm so sorry, Arya. I'm so sorry for leaving you." His whole body shook against her knees, his ribs heaving, sobbing in anguish.

She shook her head and closed her fingers around his jaw, blinking back her stinging tears. _Do not weep, lovely lion. Do not weep for me._ "Don't. Don't apologize. It's not your fault, but you should have known it was a terrible plan," Arya sniffed, painting on a smile. "Mine usually are."

Arya's sad smile widened as he chuckled in response. "You're right. The image of your Braavosi drinking game is seared in my mind." He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her against his chest as he leaned against the bed. Taking a deep breath, Jaime smoothed a hand over her hair. "What are we going to do now?"

A realization washed over her. "The king…he is a warlock but I learned that the magic is not entirely his own. He draws it from something…something beyond the walls where the shadow demons dwell. That is why they are there, to protect this power."

"The eggs. That must be what he's getting it from." He paused upon seeing her face. "No, Arya, you can't seriously consider going in there."

"Jaime," she started, reaching up to run her thumb over his cheek, "if we don't get the eggs then this was all for nothing. All this pain, all this sacrifice, was for nothing." Arya felt guilty as she said it, knowing the true end to this mission. _But if I do not go through with it, things will be even worse. Jaqen warned me of the evils amassing, and now I know that he speaks the truth. The Many Faced God must be repaid now more than ever._ "I just…I do not know how we will make it out alive."

Arya studied his face as he thought. He looked as if he had lost weight, she noted. As her eyes traveled lower she made out the gauntness of his once well-muscled arms and the jarring collarbones jutting up from his tunic. And here she was clothed in a gown of spun-silver. Jaime suddenly slipped his arm out and reached down the front of his tunic.

"The blood," she whispered as he dropped the vial into her lap. Arya reflexively felt at her own neck, but it was bare. The king must have taken her own pendant when she arrived. "It will protect whomever wears it from the shadows…but there is only one." She closed her fingers around the bottle and peered at the dark liquid. "I'll go."

"Arya—"

"I said I'll go. I'm the one who got us into this mess, I'll get us out. The king expects me to lead you beyond the wall in the morning, and I doubt he'll send guards…I'm supposedly still under his control. And I think there's an abandoned dock right beyond the walls, you can wait for me there in an old fishing boat. You have to let me do this, Jaime. Please," she said lacing her fingers through his own.

He sighed into her hair. "I know that I can't stop you, but I'm still going to worry."

She smiled sadly at his words. "Imagine saying that when we first met. The cocky knight and his unwilling damsel in distress who threw daggers at his head." Relaxing back against his chest, Arya thought back to their long journey to this place. Braavosi merchants, pleasure ships, a khalasar, and—"Whatever happened to Daario? Wasn't he with you…"

Confusion washed over Jaime's face. "We were going after you when he just went off…"

"Damn the fucking sellsword," Arya jested, rolling her eyes. "One less thing to worry about."

Jaime smirked in agreement before his expression again turned somber. "Just promise me—and I know that promises are foolish but we are both helpless fools—that when this is all over…" he swallowed and ran a finger down her cheek, "we will be together. No more danger, no more killing, no more ships and horselords and sellswords. I don't need an adventure, I just need you."

 _An how I wish it could be true, my lion. Oh, how I wish._ But Jaime was wrong, and she was not a fool who could happily surrender to her heart.

"I promise."

* * *

 _Finally, another chapter! I know you didn't like seeing Arya as a puppet, so hopefully you feel better now. Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter and your thoughts for future ones, and thanks for reading!_


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

The wind snapped and howled around them, pulling and yanking on her thin cloak. Feeling the cool vial clutched in her hand, Arya took a breath and stepped through iron gate. "I'll be out soon," she said, knowing that Jaime stood just behind her on the other side. She heard as the gate shuddered closed, leaving her alone in the eerie grey light.

The path curved and twisted through the slick black rock, and as she walked further and further along, her footsteps seemed to grow louder, echoing through the shadowed passage. As the path turned sharply to the right, a white-hot heat caused Arya to gasp, her fingers snapping open. The vial fell from her palm and smashed into the stone, sending glittering shards in every direction.

" _Fuck_ ," Arya hissed, crouching down. The blood, her blood, seeped from the shattered glass and onto the stone ground. _Great, my only protection in this damned place—_

" _Who comes to our home?"_

Arya's head snapped up, her eyes darting around the passage. "Who's there?" she called out, willing herself to not be afraid. She felt for the dagger at her belt, the one Jaime had slipped her before leaving.

Something cold rushed past, sending her hood whipping across her face. " _Who bleeds in our home?_ " the voice hissed, causing the hair on her neck to stand up. " _Who bleeds?"_

Her limbs leaden with fear, Arya turned on her heel. Leaning against the inky rock was a… _a woman?_ Arya wondered. _No, something else. A shadow._ She was the color of a storm, with ash grey skin and hair the color of lightening cracking open the sky, blinding white with veins of purple. She was beautiful, deadly, dangerous.

"Well aren't you going to offer me any?" The whispering, wind-like voice was gone, replaced by something slightly teasing and effortless. The woman raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I—who are—what do you want?" Arya stammered out, the dagger at her hip forgotten.

"Didn't I make myself clear?" she replied, pulling her pale lips into a pout. " _Blood_ , dear girl. It's been ages since…" the woman trailed off, licking her lips. "And I want to be feed."

With one last look at the woman, Arya stepped back over to the shattered vial. Swallowing back her fear, she dipped her fingertips into the warm pool and cast a look over her shoulder. She approached the shadow woman, coming to a halt before her. "Is this what you want?" Arya asked, looking up. The woman was almost a full head taller than herself, with light grey eyes that shone against her almost translucent skin.

" _Beautiful_ ," the woman purred. She grabbed Arya's dripping and trembling hand and dragged her tongue across the pinky. Arya shuddered but did not pull away as she proceeded to lick off every drop. With a satisfied hiss that sent shivers up Arya's spine, the woman kissed off the last drop and threw back her head. "Thank you! Thank you, my dear. That was… _electrifying_."

"Who are you?" Arya whispered, casting a look at her stained hand.

"They call me Asra, Queen of the Shadows," she said in mild indignation. "More like Queen of the Dammed and the Dead. But I've never been keen on titles, _Arya Stark of Winterfell_."

The name sent another course of fear racing through her veins. "You—you know me?"

Asra huffed and gave her a haughty smile. "Why do you thing I wanted to _taste_ you, my dear?" she said, grabbing Arya's hand and kissing her sticky palm before dropping it back down. "S _hadows_ , as you humans call us, can learn everything about a person with just a drop. Now you, my sweet girl," Asra tailed her finger down Arya's cheek, "required a bit more."

"So you know what I want," Arya said quietly as heat flamed across her face.

"Of course I do," Asra breathed out, lifting Arya's chin. "You want him."

 _Him?_ "No," Arya started, confused, "I'm looking for the drago—"

"Do not lie to me," Asra snapped, her grey eyes flashing the color of her hair. "Or that little snack you brought won't suffice to keep you safe." Suddenly she pulled away, her eyes returning to their normal color. "Play a game with me, and I'll give you what you seek."

"And if I lose?" Arya shot back, crossing her arms.

Asra smirked. "Then you stay. Welcome to hell, my sweet girl."

"Fine," she said, frowning. "What game?"

"Oh, just some questions, really. I ask you something, and you answer. But if you lie," she said, holding out her palm, "and I _always_ know when someone lies, then you lose. Simple."

Arya fingered the dagger beneath her cloak. _No, you can't fight. They're just questions, after all_. "Ask away."

Another smirk. "Why do you want the eggs?"

"They're for the dragon queen, Daenerys Targaryen. I do not know why she wants them."

"And you have…no other reason? No other plans?"

Arya shifted uncomfortably, her eyes downcast and studying her boots. "I…I am waiting for her "dragon king". I made someone a promise…"

Asra nodded. _She already knows._ "And once this king emerges?"

"I'll kill them both," Arya whispered, clenching her fist. "I have to…or else I sacrifice myself. It is my duty."

The queen reached out her hand and pressed it against Arya's chest, right above her heart. "Then why does your pulse race so?" Asra breathed out, her fingers pressing deeper into Arya's chest.

Arya looked up, blinking back the tears stinging her eyes. "Do not make me say it," she pleaded.

"Tell me, Arya. Or you lose."

The fingers dug deeper, far deeper than any human could. They bit into her flesh, her bone, her heart. "If I do my duty…if I kill the dragons or myself…I will lose him. And I…" she felt a tear fall from her lashes, "I love him."

Asra pulled her hand away, instead placing it under Arya's chin. The queen brushed her pale lips on her cheek, kissing the spot where the tear streaked down. "And now you have won. Come with me, my broken girl. I will give you the eggs."

* * *

 _Finally, another chapter! I know this one's a bit…strange, perhaps, but I really wanted something interesting to go down here with Arya. Anyways, I'm really curious as to how my readers find this story and why you stay (thank you!). Comment down below, I'd really like to know!_


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

The sea out here was so peaceful, so calm. So unlike the land it guarded. Jaime dipped his golden hand into the water, leaning over the edge of the small fishing boat. Not that there were any fish, nothing could survive here.

"Jaime!"

He turned abruptly at the voice, the boat nearly capsizing under his sudden shift in weight. After steadying himself, Jaime's eyes widened at the sight. _She's alive. Arya's alive._ He noticed a leather rucksack over one shoulder, one that she had not entered with. "You found them," Jaime breathed out. Arya nodded, and when her face dipped down he could see a faint sheen on her cheeks, like hastily wiped-away tears. He decided not to question it.

"Three dragon eggs," she said, stepping gingerly into the creaking boat. "All of this for three eggs." Arya seated herself on the board opposite him and reached into the bag. Jaime watched as she pulled them out, one after the other. Fire red, ice blue, jet black. They were beautiful, yes. But they were also so…small. Small against the weathered boat, small against the quiet sea. Insignificant.

Jaime scooted forward so that their knees brushed together and covered her hand with his own. He stared down at their hands, one large and tan, one small and pale. Both caked with grime and blood and dirt. Intertwined, together. "It wasn't for nothing," he said quietly.

"How?" Arya asked, her face turned out towards the dark sea.

"Because I found you."

"Maybe I'm supposed to be lost." Her voice was so faint, barely a whisper.

Jaime didn't respond. Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn't. He couldn't acknowledge that he had found himself in something, someone, broken. She was broken and she healed him. _And perhaps I am to blame, in part. But there are darker demons inside of her, ones begging to be set free._ He gave her hand a squeeze and returned to whatever lay ahead.

After about an hour or so of rowing, their little boat finally rounded the corner of the cliffs beside them. It was dark now, but not even the starless sky matched the inky walls looming always to their right. Jaime navigated them forward towards the dock ahead, the one they had arrived at. In truth, he had no idea where they would go from here. "What now?" he said, careful to keep his voice low." The port was eerily quiet, with not even a flame to light the way.

Arya turned to look over her shoulder. "Like usual, I hadn't thought that part out."

Jaime chuckled. Forgetting the next step was expected for them now. "Great. We're penniless, have no food, and have no ship. And the king of this damned place probably wants our heads." He spat the words out, wanting to leave behind every memory of the warlock king. "We'll sleep here for the night, perfectly safe," he said, his voice rich with sarcasm. Stretching out over the narrow boat, he refused to meet her gaze. _And now she probably thinks I'm angry with her._

A few minutes later Jaime felt a finger jab at his outstretched leg. "Jaime!" Arya hissed, poking him again. "Look!"

Groaning, he took her hand and pulled himself up. "What?"

"Over there," she said, pointing in the distance. "Someone wants us to see them."

And sure enough, as Jaime squinted out at the open sea, he could make out a flickering light bobbing up and down on the waves. The flame whispered out. "It's just a—" his voice cut out as he widened his eyes. "You're right."

The flame was joined, faster and faster, by other glowing, flickering lights. They dotted the glassy sea, winking in and out of view. "Jaime," Arya said, excited, "someone is here for us, a ship!"

Jaime's eyebrows pulled together in apprehension. "It could be a trap, a trick from the warlock."

"What else are we going to do?" Arya shot back, unexpectedly angry. "We either find out for ourselves or get discovered in the morning. If you don't want to go it's perfectly fine with me—I'll row there myself."

They looked at each other, and from the sound of her heavy breathing he could tell how upset she really was. "Ok," he said calmly, prying the oars from her hands. "We'll go."

As they neared the lights, Jaime could hear voices coming from what he now saw as a great ship, its dark wood only visible from the small flames dotting the rail high above. In the faint light he could make out the gold lettering printed on her side: _The Laughing._ The rest of the name was gone, most likely peeled off in a storm. The unfinished name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. When he tore his eyes away, Jaime noticed a lowered hemp ladder swinging against the ship's side. "Looks like someone's been expecting us," he muttered. "I'll go first."

Arya laughed from her seat opposite him. "Fat chance," she said, shrugging on the leather rucksack. Before he could stop her, Arya jumped up and leapt from the boat, sending Jaime spinning backward in the process. Grumbling, he steered closer again and grabbed at the rough ladder, kicking the weathered old boat behind him.

By the time he reached the rail Arya was already up—as much as he hated to admit it, climbing one-handed was rather tiresome. Breathing hard, Jaime hauled himself up and over the rail. Two men stood before him. One was the all-too familiar sellsword with his arms around the girl's shoulders. The other was hard and tough with a smirk plastered on his whiskered face. Golden blonde whiskers that matched a golden blonde crown of thinning hair.

"Would you look at that!" the man cried out, stepping forwards and clapping a large hand around Jaime's neck. "My, my, if only my brother could get a look at you now."

Jaime glanced down at the man's neck. There was a thin gold chain wrapped around his nut-brown skin. And a tiny lion dangled from the end.

* * *

 _Another chapter done! I hope you're still enjoying this story, any feedback would be great as the story begins to wind down (but don't worry, we still have to get back to Westeros!). Any guesses as to who this guy is? Let me know and also say if you have any requests for the journey back. Thanks!_


	30. Chapter 30

_Finally, a new chapter!_

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

"So after all this time, all these years, you've been…" Jaime trailed off, his eyes wandering around the quiet deck. Jaime had just finished telling him about the events back in Westeros, everything from Robert's death to Daenerys' conquest.

"Where I always said I'd go," Gerion finished, leaning against the polished rail and folding his arms. "The day I left I told your father that'd I'd sail to the ends of the earth, and here I am. I doubt he expected to find you here as well…with a young girl no less." His eyes traveled to Arya and Daario, quietly conversing several yards down the deck.

"Do you know who she is, Uncle?" Jaime asked.

The old lion studied the girl, taking in her wild dark hair, moon-lit skin, and shining grey eyes. "If I didn't know better I'd name her Lyanna Stark, but the poor girl died long ago. She is a Stark though, no doubt about that. One of Lord Eddard's children, then? Sansa, is that her name?"

"Arya, Ned's youngest daughter," Jaime said quietly.

"And what exactly is Jaime Lannister doing with the child? Kidnapping her? Selling her?"

His eyes widened. "What? No—uncle, you don't understand. The dragon queen sent us on a mission…I would never hurt her."

A tiny smile, a sad smile, crept up on the lion's weathered face. "I'm not judging you, my boy. I'm the last one to discredit the intentions of another man. After all, look where I ended up." Gerion clapped a hand on Jaime's shoulder. "Do what you will with her—keep her, send her away, have her warm your bed at night—but know that at the end of the day, it's always the maidens we love that end up hurt. Not the other way around."

"She's stronger than that." _She is ice and she is steel_ , Jaime wanted to add.

Gerion nodded. "I had a girl like that once, a dozen or so years ago. Maybe a year or two younger than yours, but with golden skin and silver hair. I reckon she had dragon blood in her, she certainly had the temperament." His uncle let out a rumbling laugh as his eyes clouded over. "Saerela, that was her name. The most beautiful creature I've ever seen. I loved everything about the girl, but do you know what happened to her?"

"I don't," Jaime said, his eyes wandering over Arya and trying to imagine the girl his uncle spoke of.

"We anchored the ship in New Ghis to pick up some supplies. I told Saerela not to go above deck, but she never did listen to me, all fire and smoke, that one. A Ghiscari noble saw the silver hair, the _Targaryen_ hair, and stole her on the spot…it was my fault, you know. It's my fault that she got hurt."

Jaime swallowed as he imagined the same thing happening to Arya. Never seeing her again, imagining her locked away in the warlock's kingdom forever… _I will never hurt you, Arya. I swear it._ As if sensing his stare, his words, Arya looked up from her conversation with the sellsword. He wanted to kiss her and stroke her and hold her in his arms, but instead he gave her a small smile and waved her over.

Arya smiled back and walked over after handing Daario the heavy rucksack. The sellsword had been telling her about why he had seemingly abandoned them outside the Shadow Lands. Daario saw the great ship and recognized its name, he had explained. The captain turned out to be none other than Tywin Lannister's long lost brother, Gerion. The man had sailed from King's Landing long ago in search of a great sword, leaving behind his bastard daughter and his brother's family.

"How wonderful to finally meet you, my lady," Gerion said with a wink, picking up her hand and kissing it despite the dirt and grime. "You can imagine my surprise when I heard we had a Stark on board, and a beauty no less."

She grinned at the old lion's obvious flirtations. Daario had warned her of the man's charm, even despite his age. He was handsome, she supposed. His greying hair was streaked with the gold of his youth, and green-flecked eyes retained laughter from his years at sea. "I thank you for your kindness, Gerion, for allowing us on your ship."

"Ah, and do you have a destination in mind? Yi Ti, Leng?"

Arya shot a look at Jaime, who nodded in conformation. "We were hoping to sail to Westeros."

Gerion gave her a thoughtful look and rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw. "Back to Westeros? I doubt the dragon queen would want me there."

"She allowed me to live," Jaime cut in. "The queen appointed me to her own queensguard, and even married Tyrion to Arya's sister, Sansa. Daenerys Targaryen is a fair woman, and I can promise you a safe return."

Jaime's uncle laughed at that. "So she gives the Stark girls to my nephews! What can I expect, your unmarried queen herself? I have fancied another silver maiden to warm my bed…"

Arya couldn't help but laugh at the older man's forwardness, let alone his oblivion to the queen's rather…complicated love life. "I'm sure something could be arranged."

Without a pause Gerion clapped his hands, the sharp sound echoing throughout the polished deck and into open night. "To Westeros it is, then! We've got a rather long journey coming our way…"

* * *

 _Sorry for not posting in so long, I've been very busy and honestly I haven't been feeling that inspired. If you did enjoy this chapter and are enjoying this story, then please let me know! It is honestly so helpful and inspiring to hear any comments and critiques, and feedback is one of the major reasons that authors continue to write. Thanks for reading!_


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

"If only other things washed off as easily as dirt and blood," Arya muttered under her breath. After a quick tour of the ship, she had requested that a bath be drawn, and one of the crew members had filled a wooden tub to the brim with steaming water. She scrubbed at her legs and hands and fingernails until the water darkened and cooled around her raw skin, trying desperately to wash away the place from which she had escaped.

"Forgetting leads to ignorance, my dear. It's hardly worth it in the end."

Arya turned in surprise, murky water splashing from the tub as she did so. "Gerion," she said, trying to retain the calmness in her voice. She settled back against the soft wood. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" _Let the old lion think I am some petty maiden with rosy lips and chirping curtsies. That's who I'll play._ Arya watched as he made his way around the narrow cabin and leaned against the far wall. She didn't move to cover herself, the blackened water did that already.

"I thought we might get to know each other, away from my dear nephew," he said, a coy smile playing on his lips.

"Dear? I didn't know you had such a fondness for Jaime. We've been traveling for more than a year and he hasn't mentioned you."

"I left when he was hardly a man. All the boy cared about was the steel in his hand and the sister by his side…how is she, by the way? Cersei? A beautiful girl when I knew her, but frightful all the same. The two were inseparable and even the fat king couldn't force them apart."

 _He doesn't know._ "She's dead," Arya put simply, raising her eyes.

Gerion stared back, his surprise seeping into his emerald irises. "Who killed her?"

"Her own heart." It wasn't even a lie, not really.

Gerion settled back against the wall, somehow satisfied with her response. "Ah. It's always affairs of the heart that hurt us in the end…and yet it is something that no man can live without…did Jaime tell you of my dear Saerela?" There was a longing in his eyes that looked like it had never left.

She nodded. _Saerela, the silver-haired child that the old lion had loved and lost._ Jaime had told her of the girl's story, of how Gerion had kept the fifteen-year-old with him at sea. After hearing the tale, Arya realized how much she pitted the silver beauty, and of how much the girl reminded her of herself. She too, had been a young child trapped in a woman's body. She too, had found herself tangled in the desires of men. Only she had escaped and grown, while Saerela was gone before she even had the chance.

Arya shifted in the tub, the floating bits of grime itching at her raw skin. The chamber was all to small. "Is that all?"

The lion went on, ignoring her discomfort. "Tell me, child, what are your plans once you get back to Westeros?" When she didn't respond, he stepped forward, his lean shadow hovering above the bath. Arya shivered under it's cover. "You can't be a day over eighteen."

 _Twenty._ Arya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. _I was a late bloomer._

Gerion continued. "I suppose you'd make someone a pretty little lady wife. I'm sure men from all over would come running at word of the last available Stark girl." He crouched down and wrapped his large hands around the tub's metal lip, making it so they were on eye-level.

"I—"

"Or will you let my nephew keep you? Settle down in a golden keep with little wolves and lions running about? From what I can tell you've already made him very happy." The murky water reflected off his once bright eyes, making them appear cold and dark.

"I'm don't—"

"Or do the confines of the marriage bed frighten you, repulse you? They did for me. All I wanted was to be free. And the Gods granted my wish. They gave me the sea…and they gave me Saerela." He broke his stare, dipping his fingers into the water and watching as the dirt clung to the tanned skin. The air seemed like it could crack at a mere whisper. "I could give you what you really want," he said quietly. "I could give you that freedom. I know it's what you crave."

Gerion's hand dipped lower, his fingertips brushing Arya's bony ankle. She wanted to pull away, but the small tub constricted her every move. Arya closed her eyes and _felt._ The touch was soft, warm, seductive. It pricked and sent pules racing up her leg. Arya breathed out as the offer sank in. _Freedom…_ She opened her eyes. _Freedom is not the ending I deserve._

Arya rose, uncaring and unashamed as the brown water rolled off her pale body. She watched as the lion's eyes traveled over her dripping form, curving over her bare breasts and hips. _Only those with things to fear hide their bodies. I may not be a wolf anymore but I am still steel._ Stepping from the tub and onto the hard wood, Arya paused before the gaping man. "I may not be free, but at least I am not caged by the ghost of a mere child." She reached out to put her slick palm on his weathered face, to touch his sad lines.

"Do not ask me to replace her, Gerion. You stole her just as much as she stole you." Arya felt a hot wetness under her thumb. She brushed it away. "Forgetting is not ignorance. It's freedom."

* * *

 _I hope you liked Gerion's characterization in this chapter. I always imagined him kind of seductive, but also a bit creepy and sad. Let me know what you thought and thanks for reading._


	32. Chapter 32

_I know it's really short, but we'll have more coming up once we get back to Westeros.  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 32**

 _Tyrion_ ,

 _How long has it been—two years? More? We've just about crossed the Narrow Sea, and should arrive in King's Landing before the next moon. I don't know how safe it is back in Westeros, and so I address this letter to you rather than the queen. Let her know that we have found what she requires._

 _You were right, my foolish brother. About the girl. Throughout this strange journey I have found something, felt something, that I hadn't in years. And although I know that a future with her is practically impossible—the girl bargained her hand away when we needed aid the most, and to Daario Naharis of all people—I cannot imagine the day that we should say goodbye. Surely you know the feeling, you have your own Stark girl in your arms…_

 _Tell Sansa that Arya sends her love, and we hope to see the both of you at the capital shortly._

 _Love,_

 _Jaime_

Jaime dipped the brass stamp into the crimson wax, pressing in the lion's fierce sigil. He glanced over at the bed, at the girl still fast asleep inside the feather comforter. Padding over, he eased himself down beside her, brushing back the loose curls that fanned over her bare shoulder. Jaime took her in his arms, holding her to the warmth of his chest.

"Arya," he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck.

She rolled slightly onto one shoulder, blinking back the heavy fog in her silver eyes. "Jaime," she whispered back, a light smile forming on her rosy lips.

Jaime let his hand wander over her bare shoulder, curving over her hip and squeezing her soft thigh. "I love you, sweet girl," he said low in her ear, grinning as her small body shuddered at his touch.

Arya turned over completely so that her chin rested against his chest, her arms circling around his neck. "I'm not a girl," she said, her voice hoarse with sleep.

Jaime laughed. "Then I love you, little wolf." He dipped down to kiss her lips, tasting her sweet mouth and savoring her fine lips. She gave in to his kiss, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair. Her mouth still flush against his own, she responded in a voice so small that Jaime could barely make it out.

"A wolf. I do not know if I am anymore."

* * *

 _As you've probably guessed, this story is beginning to wind down. Please let me know if you'd like me to write another story after this, or if you have any suggestions as to which pairing you'd like to see. Thanks!  
_


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

It was midnight when they arrived at the very same port from which they had departed. Same inky sky and looming stone walls, but now, nearly two years later, the dock was eerily silent. Arya thought back to the surprise attack by Tyrell bannermen and could almost hear the screams echoing against the castle walls. Hopefully nothing had come of the attack, but then again, they had heard little news from the kingdom on their voyage home.

"Gerion, Jaime," Arya whispered as the ship slid to a stop, the crew working silently behind her. "Is someone to meet us?"

The two men approached the rail, and Jaime scanned the darkness with a frown. "I told Tyrion when we would be arriving," Jaime said, glancing at his uncle, "and the seas have favored us well…"

"Look!" she whispered in a hushed tone, grabbing Jaime's arm. A figure had emerged from behind a corner thick with brush and began walking directly towards the ship. "Let's see who it is." Before either of the men could stop her, Arya swung her legs over the rail and leapt, landing noiselessly and cat-like on the planks below. Arya unsheathed the dagger at her hip. "Who goes there?" she called out.

The figure—a woman, judging by the full skirt and cloak—stopped a few strides before her. "Little sister." The woman pulled off her hood.

 _Oh gods._ Bright auburn hair shown in the moonlight, a color Arya could never forget. "Sansa," she breathed out, the dagger falling, forgotten, from her fingers.

Laughing and crying all the same, Arya ran forward and engulfed her sister in a bear-like hug. "Oh Sansa, it really is you!" she cried, breathing in the sweet and faint lemony scent of her older sister.

"Me? I hardly recognize you, Arya!" said Sansa, returning the hug with the ferocity that could only occur after more than ten years apart. She finally pulled back, allowing Arya to really look at her. Sansa seemed to have grown even more beautiful with age, with a full figure and bust hidden behind her dark gown. Upon a closer inspection, however, Arya made out the streaks of dirt on Sansa's face and clothes, as well as a faint purple bruise peaking out from the gown's neckline.

Arya heard Gerion and Jaime as they too jumped down from the ship, but thankfully the two men stayed back. Arya wanted just a few more moments alone with her sister.

"Are you well, Sansa? What happened here, is the queen all alive? Are you hurt? Tell me—"

"I'm fine," said Sansa, cutting her off. "Now, at least. But we're not safe here, Arya. Not for long, anyways." Sansa brushed back the hair on Arya's forehead and gave her a tender smile. "I'll explain once we get inside the keep." She glanced over Arya's shoulder. "Tell Ser Jaime that it's safe to come up now."

Arya smirked at the "ser" but said nothing, instead waving the two men over.

"Ser Jaime," Sansa said, giving him a curt bow. "How nice it is to see my good-brother."

"And you as well, my lady. I hope that my brother has proved to be a good husband and father." Sansa nodded in agreement, giving him a small smile. It looked like Jaime could hardly keep a smirk off his face at the formality of it all, so Arya have him a quick jab in the ribs. "It seems that you Starks were almost meant to end up with us Lions."

 _Of course he ends with a jest._ Rolling her eyes and avoiding Sansa's curious gaze, Arya motioned to the old lion beside Jaime. "Gerion Lannister, Sansa," she said, waving a hand between them.

Gerion's eyes seemed to lite up as he drank in the red-headed beauty, but fortunately he restrained himself from anything too obvious. Arya was used to the two Lannister's obscenity and bawdy humor, but she doubted that her proper sister would feel the same.

"A beauty, just like her sister," he said warmly, kissing her hand. With a glance back at the ship, where their supplies and parcels had been unloaded, Gerion rested a hand on Arya's shoulder. "It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady, but I best be off. You never know where the next adventure might take me." Gerion gave Arya kiss on the cheek and a knowing smile, which she easily returned, and shook Jaime's hand.

Once the old lion had reached his ship, Sansa suddenly reached forward and took hold of Arya's hand. "Come, there's much that you need to know. And if you thought the walls had ears before," she shot Jaime a look, "that was nothing compared to now."

* * *

 _I know it's been a very long time, sorry! Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and please leave your thoughts below. Thank you so much for sticking with me all this time!_


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Once inside the keep (they had entered through one of the servant staircases after Daario had finally said his goodbyes to the old lion), Sansa ushered them past the throne room and halted outside a rather plain-looking door. Jaime glanced down at Arya and took her hand as Sansa rapped her knuckles on the wood. Daario stood back a bit, the heavy rucksack slung over his shoulder.

"It's me," she called out. "They've arrived."

After a short pause the door swung wide, illuminating the dark hall in a bath of warm candlelight. A large table littered with parchments, maps, and books filled the room, but it was the people sat round that caught Jaime's eye, more importantly, the grim looks that adorned their faces.

At the very head sat the silver queen with her knees tucked up to her chin in an almost child-like manner. And although Daenerys looked as beautiful as ever, the queen had a gaunt, just shy of sickly look about her fine features. To her left sat Ser Jorah, more scraggily than ever with a shock of plum that darkened one of his eyes. And finally, there sat Tyrion, who jumped up immediately to wrap his arms around his wife's waist. Jaime let go of Arya's hand and cleared his throat.

Daenerys gave him a weak smile. "I apologize that we could not offer you a warmer welcome, Ser Jaime, Lady Arya, and…" her voice trailed off as her violet eyes wandered to the man standing behind him. "Daario," the queen finally breathed out. Ser Jorah's eyes darkened, and Jaime thought he saw the knight's hand go for his sword belt. The queen looked as if to say more when the sellsword quickly cut her off.

"My queen. It is lovely to see your face again, but a war council—as this appears to be—is no place for a man such as myself. I shall see myself to get cleaned up." With a curt nod, Daario quickly handed the sack off to Arya and slipped outside.

No one spoke. The stillness could have been cut with a child's toy sword.

It was Tyrion who brought them back. "Daenerys," he started, pulling away from his wife, "My brother and good-sister have seemingly been successful." Tyrion pointed at the leather sack. "I believe we owe our guests an update on the…situation." He gestured at the empty chairs and Arya laid down the rucksack with a dull thud.

The dragon queen blinked at the package, as if coming out of a shock, before responding. "The night of your departure was not a singular event," Daenerys began, her voice soft. "Over and over these secret attacks sprang up all over my kingdom, but none dared to come forward or take credit. At least not until two weeks ago…"

"The Tyrells attacked us first," Tyrion interjected, casting a sorrowful look at his young wife. Sansa griped his hand with her own. "In the middle of the night a dozen men managed scale the walls of Casterly Rock. They went straight for Sansa and the children…we barely managed to escape with out lives."

"Where are they now, the children?" said Arya, her brow furrowed as she gazed at her sister.

"Bear Island. Ser Jorah was kind enough to work out something with his family while he was up North until it's all over, seeing as the children have still some Stark blood in them."

Tyrion nodded before continuing. "Once we arrived at the capital—there was no place left to go—the roses started closing in on the city, closer and closer every day until all we had left was the keep itself. All of our forces are either destroyed or trapped outside, and no ally dares to venture inside the city. Even the queen's dragons are no use to us in here, even if they were nearby."

The queen shifted uncomfortably and drew her knees in tighter. _She must miss her dragons,_ Jaime told himself. "All we could do was pray for your return," said Daenerys. "Can I see them?"

Arya nodded and carefully pulled out each egg, placing them gently on the table. Daenerys looked almost hungry as she stroked her thin fingers down their ridged surfaces. "My queen—" Arya began.

"Dany," the queen corrected, her tone breathy, her eyes unable to tear themselves away from the eggs.

"Dany. You wouldn't believe the struggles we've endured to find these eggs. Do you have any—erm—plans for them?"

The queen finally tore away her eyes, which now shone with excitement despite her relaxed features. "Yes, yes." She looked at Jorah. "But it's not ready yet, not ready at all."

Jaime gave the silver queen a questioning look. "What is?"

Daenerys laughed, her silver hair swinging wildly around her gaunt face as her head tilted back. "The fire, the fire! Oh, Ser Jorah, shall I tell them? Shall I tell the pretty lion who sliced my father and the little wolf who warms his bed?" The queen stood as her voice grew higher, and she stepped over to the old knight and wrapped an arm around his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye Jaime saw Arya flush a deep red. Tyrion and Sansa both averted their eyes.

"My queen, Dany," Jorah said in a low voice as the queen clung closer to his broad chest. "I fear you're much too tired for this. How about I escort our guests to their chambers, and you can speak to them in the morrow." The knight's voice was gentle, as if he was speaking to a young child. Daenerys smiled and stoked his cheek with her small hand.

With a curt nod at Lord and Lady Lannister, the couple silently got up to leave. Tyrion gave Jaime a knowing look as he left. Surely his brother would be able to explain the queen's rather…odd behavior.

Once the knight had settled the queen back in her chair, Ser Jorah gestured for them to follow him out the solar.

"Care to explain that?" Arya whispered as they stopped midway down the shadowed hallway. "She was fine one second and…something else the next."

Ser Jorah had a faraway look in his eyes. "These past two years haven't been easy on the queen. She lost Missandei to the Tyrells, her dragons are gone, and she has more to worry about than any young woman should. But it's nothing to be concerned over," the knight added hastily, his voice harsh. "Daenerys Targaryen is perfectly healthy. Any who question that can answer to me." With a gruff sound of indignation Ser Jorah turned on his heel and headed back to the solar.

"Well," Jaime said, careful to keep his voice low. "I've a feeling our old knight hasn't revealed even half of the truth."

Arya nodded but said nothing. They had survived a journey to the Shadow Lands and back. They had come back, together, and that was all that mattered now.

* * *

 _So Jaime seems to think that it's all over…but what do you guys think? Are Arya and Jaime safe at last? Or maybe there's something even darker still to come…_


	35. Chapter 35

_Just a head's up: If you're an avid Gendry/Arya shipper, I'd recommend you skip to the end of this chapter..._

* * *

 **Chapter 35**

Of all the nights Jaime had spent in the Red Keep, this one had certainly been the best. He wasn't on guard outside the king's old chambers, positioned the same way every night as to hear his sister's muffled cries and Robert's boarish groans. He wasn't tangled in Cersei's crimson sheets, lying awake as dragon fire and screams flitted through their open window, as the golden queen sobbed into what would become one of their very last nights together. And he wasn't stationed outside the dragon queen's rooms, watching as the sellsword and the old knight crisscrossed the shadowed halls, none aware that the silver girl they so worshiped and loved had lain with another man just hours before.

This morning, however, Jaime has woken up sweaty, aching for glass of wine, and more content than he had ever been before.

"Good morning," Jaime whispered, hugging Arya closer. She responded to being woken up by jabbing him in the thigh with her foot.

"Get the fuck off me, Jaime," she whined halfheartedly, trying (and failing) to squirm away.

"Oh, are we playing this game again? The one where you pretend to hate me, little wolf? Because you _know_ that I've had lots of practice with that one," Jaime teased. Before Arya could respond, he proceeded to pull her up onto his chest, the silky sheets slipping away from their nude forms, so that she lay on her stomach, trapped beneath his arms.

"No," she said crossly, but the glint in her eye gave her away. "You're sweating like a pig."

"I would expect nothing less after last night's…activities. Do you reckon your sister heard us all the way down the hall?" Jaime's smirk widened at her blush, and he let his good hand wander lower down her back to give her a playful squeeze. "All I want is you," he wrapped an arm around her waist, "beneath me," Jaime flipped her over with a laugh, caging her beneath his arms, "and your—"

"Seven hells."

 _Oh fuck._

Jaime snapped his head around. Someone was standing in the open doorway, their mouth hanging open. A young man—a boy, compared to himself—had seemingly dropped a small, parchment-wrapped parcel that they had been carrying. "Who the hell are you?" Jaime snapped, annoyed at the interruption. He felt Arya yank up the discarded sheets, but Jaime didn't move away.

"I—'scuse me, my lord—I was told that Lady Arya'd be here. Seeing as she's not…" The boy gestured to the open door.

Jaime smirked and rolled sideways. When he glanced over, he saw that Arya lay frozen with the sheets pulled up to her chin, a look of horror on her face. "She's a bit…preoccupied at the moment." The dark-haired boy took one look at the bed and quickly averted his eyes. Jaime couldn't help but notice the flash over anger that came over his reddened face.

"I'll be outside when m'lady is done being _preoccupied_ ," the boy snarled, spinning on his heel and slamming the door behind him with a loud _CRACK._

Neither of them spoke for a good minute.

"Do you know that boy?"

"Yes."

"Who is he?"

"Nobody."

Jaime shifted so that he could look at her face. "Don't lie to me, Arya."

"Gendry," said Arya after a brief pause.

"Who is he?" Jaime repeated, less sharply this time.

"Like I said, nobody," Arya shot back, throwing away the sheets and standing up. Jaime couldn't help but let his breath catch at the sight. "He's someone from my past, Jaime. Don't ask about mine and I won't ask about yours." With a single, jarring, movement, Arya tugged a thin shift over her head and strode over to the door. It closed with the exact same _CRACK_ as before.

* * *

"Just talk to me, Gendry." They stood just outside her chamber, but Arya didn't really care if Jaime heard. She didn't care about near anything, anymore.

"As you say, m'lady."

"Shut up, I'm being serious," Arya snapped, reaching out to grab his arm. Gendry flinched at her touch and yanked away.

"And I'm listening." He crossed his arms. "What do you want me to say, Arya? That all I could think about for months after you left was our kiss? That I didn't touch a single girl in hope that you'd be there the next morning? How I spent _two fucking years_ pining over a girl who I didn't even know was _alive_?!"He was shouting now and ignored all of Arya's attempts to shush him.

"But you know what?" Gendry started, lowering his voice to an icy whisper, "You can go back to him. To fucking that washed-up old Lannister. Because I saw, Arya. I saw what you were doing with him." Gendry glanced her up and down before leaning forward to spit on the stone floor. "Just tell me something, Arya."

"W-what?" Arya whispered nervously, not daring to step closer or comfort him in any way.

"Did he force you?"

"Force me?"

"To let him call you Cersei while he fucked you every night?"

Arya blinked. She felt like she'd been slapped. "I don't know what—"

"Save it, Arya," Gendry sneered. His hands dropped down, his fingers clenched so tightly into fists that his usually tan knuckled turned bright white. "The whole of Westeros knows what they did all those years. And now they'll know how Ned Stark's youngest daughter crept her way into the Kingslayer's bed."

"Please, Gendry, I can explain—"

"I don't care!" he bellowed, the painting behind him rattling as the sound reverberated off the stone. Then, quietly: "Don't _ever_ try to speak to me again. _M'lady._ " With one last look of utter disgust Gendry tore off down the hall.

" _Shit,"_ Arya muttered. After a look back at her chambers, Arya sprinted off after him. _He has to know…he has to know that I let him go two years ago to save him. To save him from me, from what I'd become._

Faster and faster she ran, bare feet slapping the cold stone and hair whipping madly behind her. The blurred shapes of servants rushed past her, round the corner, up the steps, _faster, faster_. She didn't care what they thought, _faster, faster_. A girl screamed and leapt out of her way, _faster, faster_. She was closing in, Gendry was just up those stairs, _faster, faster_ —

Arya slammed face-first into something cold and silvery.

White-hot pain erupted from her nose as she caught herself on the bannister with one hand, the other reaching up to clamp around her slickened nose. "Watch where you're going, you…" Arya's voice faltered when she glanced up.

"You what?" It was Ser Jorah, and a smudge of crimson now adorned his steel breastplate. His mouth was set in a hard line.

"Nothing, never mind," said Arya quickly, using the rail to pull herself into a standing position. Ser Jorah's eyes took in her disheveled state and her thin shift. Arya couldn't help but shiver under the knight's piercing stare.

He had to be at least ten, maybe fifteen years older than Jaime, yet she (along with the rest of Westeros) had heard of his lust for the young queen. Arya was only a few years younger than Daenerys, but even then she couldn't imagine allowing such a man into her bed. He was handsome for his age, yes, and still quite fit like Jaime…but there was something off with the old knight. Jorah and the queen reminder her of Gerion and the child he lusted after, Saerela. They even looked similar, as the girl had likely been of bastard Targaryen blood.

"Can I help you," he said in a gruff voice, one bushy eyebrow raised in question.

Arya realized that she had been staring. "I—sorry. I was just…searching for someone." She hoped that the man hasn't caught on to her ragged breathing.

Ser Jorah gave a curt nod and shifted his armor slightly. "This area of the keep is off-limits, Lady Arya. You'd best return your…search elsewhere." Arya's protest faltered at his grim face. _Even_ I _know how to pick my battles._

Arya took one last glance at her surrounding—she had ended up in the stairs outside the throne room, but the heavy oak doors were sealed shut. Spinning on her heel, Arya started her descent before halting on the last step. Without turning around, she said: "If I were you, I'd keep a careful watch on that sellsword. If what we saw last night is true, then Her Grace is surely in no state to have both of you fighting for her bed."

She didn't bother to catch his expression—any man or woman in Westeros could predict the look of jealous rage that surely took over his weathered features.

* * *

 _I've been so busy, but I finally had time to write for you guys. Thank you so much for sticking with this story, and please let me know what your favorite part has been so far. Thanks!_


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